august 22nd, 6am— sitting in the very small jackson hole airport with a hot coffee and an unobstructed view of the early morning light lifting over the tetons. there’s a line of planes evenly spaced apart— a plane for each peak. i like that all boarding here happens outside. i like watching everyone make their way up the ramp, their jackets and bags standing out against the purple mountains. a metal switchback. if i squint my eyes it looks like they’re climbing up the mountains themselves. i like this image. they’re turning pink now; i can’t see it but i know the sun is warming them from behind my seat, from behind the airport, probably from the gros ventre road, maybe from right over blue miner lake. i wonder what the sky looks like over there, if the sun is lighting up sheep mountain, or rising behind it. i’m thinking about how foreign these mountains, these jagged peaks felt when i first dropped down next to them in the snow in may, and how familiar they feel now. how familiar they’ll feel, forever. i like this image.