With my morning coffee steaming from the sandstone mug gripped in my hand, I grab the book.
It’s a good one.
Written by someone who knows Wyoming.
Who knows her country and animals and people.
I sit at the table, devouring words for breakfast.
Perhaps I should wait to make a review…
wait for the story to end…
for tragedy to come and bring that dark tunnel in order to find the bright light at the end…
for without the darkness, the light is not special.
Marvel at the use of words and descriptions.
But as I am impressed, I also feel the stirring of rejection.
of what may grow into a defensive stand.
These stirring words, evocative of Wyoming’s landscapes and lifestyles, haunt with a moodiness, a brooding shadow over her great blue sky.
It seems that many authors write Wyoming with an emptiness reflective of their sorrows.
I cannot do that.
To me, Wyoming is joy unbounded.
A stunning hue of blue overhead, an invigorating whiff of sagebrush after a rain, a glaring yellow on a meadowlark’s chest, a flash of white of a buck’s retreating form, laughter and stories and characters that make your eyes squint in their brilliance.
I tuck my bookmark into the pages and swig the cold last drops of coffee.
Perhaps I am too early in my book review… perhaps the character will find joy and the tone of the book will reflect the change. Perhaps my Pollyanna will be rewarded.
It is a good book, but for once, I want to read about the joy of life in Wyoming, with struggles that are overcome because of the blessings that this state endows. I want an uplifting tale with a happy ending… because that is who I am.
My mug goes into the sink.
I grab my coat and walk out into the blue.
Claiming Ground by Laura Bell