gorgonzola butter

the sun takes its time across the massively blue idaho sky, scorching forest as it lingers. freshly dead trees stand as shriveled instant fossils, their moisture evaporating at once. the thin air falls heavy on your nose as breaths of evergreens and wild flowers roll down the slopes and settle in the valley below.  if the wet, muggy air of the georgia piedmont hangs oppressively on my back, then the cool, dry mountain air in idaho feels like a bellow inflating my chest in comparison.  without rain the rocks turn to dirt beneath our feet and mushroom clouds of dust cake our ankles with each step. 

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