moosemoosemoosemoose

A moose with an enormous rack strolled past my living room window. He looked at me for a moment, in a rather bored way, then continued down my driveway. This is the fourth or fifth moose I've seen this summer. Either Ethan is a Cinderfella, attracting animals since his birth, or we must live on a migratory pathway. The animals (even the bears) go up or down our driveway and cross through our front yard to the "Spirit Park" which you can see through my kitchen window.

MaMa would've loved living here. Every summer on our roadtrips through national parks, MaMa stalked mooses. Yes, she desperately wanted to see one. And I'd often wake from slumbering in the backseat of the car, to her screams, "Moosemoosemoosemoosemoose." Unfortunately, the only moose she ever saw were tiny brown patches of fur wavering like a mirage between trees.

She would've loved sitting on my porch (as I am now). Terminal dust creeps down from the mountain tops. Winter is coming.