Rocky Mountain Retreat

There is a particular hour in the mountains when the light goes amber and the air carries everything the day has collected -- pine resin, dry earth, the faint char of a fire somewhere above the treeline. The Rockies hold altitude the way old stone holds heat, slowly and completely. This scent lives in that hour. The smoke is real but never harsh. The wood is warm but never heavy. It is the smell of somewhere far from ordinary.