"If Butte was a blushing beauty when I first laid eyes on her then I have just caught her in bed with another. Everything I fell in love with, her brilliant colors and openness, her wild temperment stretching towards the untamed future, these are the things I am running from. Snaking through the mountains the grey pavement beckons me and like a child hypnotized by the promise of ice cream I press on. The farther I follow this monotone guide into the heart of Montana the more betrayed I feel. Her tree topped mountains and hills have lured me into a sense of false security. They have led me to abandon my reticent opinion that this sky country is to wild to be controlled. As I drift deeper into this foreign land I become more and more embittered. I glimpse sky and land through the forests that so proudly and fiercely line the road. They are nothing more than lonesome cowboys sitting together to trick their enemy with the illusion that their number is greater than it is. A boy's bluff and rag tag attempt at grandeur. A desert seems more welcoming than this land for at least it tells the truth. It holds no pretensions, does not try to be more than it is. Indeed it cannot, it has no friends with whom it might band together, to trick it's visitor. It has nowhere to run and hide, for all it holds is mile upon mile of sand. This landscape stretching out before me is more barren than any desert, for it has tricked me into believing it is anything but. I wanted so dearly to come to this place and see what inspired Norman Mclean to pen "A River Runs Through it". Now I am here and my heart feels to bruised and betrayed to fight against this prison of tree and sky. This place inspires a lonesome love that will never be completely devoid of struggle. There is nothing easy about this love, to try to change this land or believe it even capable of difference is as useless as trying to fight against the sky, or make the clouds change shape on command."