Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
At five o’clock, the shadow of the western ridge reached the edge of the clearing, turning the grass from a bright green to a deep, cool gray. The air turned cold quickly, the kind of sudden drop that tells you winter is not entirely finished with the mountains yet. I stood up from the rocker, carrying it back inside the cabin and setting it in its place by the woodstove.
I walked to the edge of the porch and looked out toward the pasture. Four elk emerged from the shadow of the tall pines, their pale rumps showing clearly against the dark timber. They moved slowly, their heads down as they grazed on the new spring grass that had begun to poke through the dry earth. They did not look toward the cabin, and they did not hurry. They moved with the easy, natural grace of things that knew they were safe in their own territory.
I stood on the step, watching them move quietly through the shadows of the tall pines.
