Dear Wyoming: A Love Letter

Dear Wyoming,

I want you to know; even when we’ve been apart, you’ve been a part of me.

I want you to know; in the beginning, I didn’t know how fortunate I was to have you. I took for granted the freedoms you afforded me. Maybe it’s the view from my rose tinted glasses, but I recall a childhood of vast spaces to explore, mountains to climb, rivers to ride, and the absence of so many barriers common place for so many. I didn’t appreciate such gifts until they were no longer mine for the taking.

I want you to know; there came a day when I stood in the street of a bustling city suburb—and tears streaked my face. I found myself surrounded by too much that was all too close. Your absence reminded me of who I was—and I needed to be her again.

I want you to know; I have found life with you is a delicate balance. You are welcoming and open, yet you have no patience for the unprepared. Your beauty is unrefined, untamed, and unruly—and you illustrate it with a kind of brutal elegance only those who know you can appreciate.

I want you to know; I see you.

You are warm sunshine and cold wind. You are mighty mountains and thirsty plains. You are raging seas of snow and glass oceans of stars. You are wildflower carpets and glacier saddles. You are heartbreaking tragedies and indescribable miracles. You are so few people and so many precious friends.

I want you to know; I am grateful for all you have been and done for me.

I want you to know; in the end, even when we part, you’ll be a part of me.