I was sitting in the ditch along East Sharples Creek Road high in the Porcupine Hills west of Claresholm. A light wind was blowing, stripping away some of the heat from the bright sun, the sky overhead a milky blue. I could smell the grass crushed beneath my butt along with a hint of wild onion.
The Porcupine Hills are stunning any time of year but right now they just might be at their best. Everything looks so fresh and new on their slopes and summits. The grass is bright green, the new leaves of aspen and poplar shimmer in the breeze. Bright, fresh needles are pushing out of buds on the pines, spruces and Douglas firs.
And the flowers, so many flowers.
That’s why I was sitting in the ditch.