September. Children nestle inside classrooms. It is fall and things have already died.
Pumpkins and harvests and the ground preparing to lie dormant again for another cold winter. But even fall here is not predictable. It is still warm outside. The leaves will not change colors.
Snow will fall, and everything will die instantly. There is no Fall in Wyoming.
Nine days since the evaporation of my once happy life. There have been times when I have been happy during these past nine days, but they have been fleeting. Very fleeting.
Cheyenne seems empty now, like the blank plain is always has been.
A successful man told me he'd been published 6,500 times and was still painfully nervous every morning. I'm normal.