Steam rises from the bridge deck, catching the last cold rays of the sun. Its diminutive span is caked in frozen-hard slush. Rickety wooden fenceposts barely trace the road through waist-deep snowdrifts. No buildings are in sight along this lonely stretch of highway—nothing but winter-worn pastureland walled in by high Wyoming peaks. It’s hard to judge the scale of this land with few human reference points, but I know we’re up about 7,000 feet above sea level, and those peaks rise some 6,000 more feet from this high plateau. We’re in deceptively big country.  

Asher Koles on the side of the road capturing this lonely sunset. I’ve already retreated to his truck where the thermometer read negative 17 degrees Fahrenheit. Colter Wall plays softly.

…Coyote chewing on a cigarette, pack o’ young boys going howlin’ at the moon…

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