To the Keen Eye

If you know Boise in December, you know what you’re seeing. Boise Ridge Road, high above the valley with early season snow, not much of it yet. Below, an inversion, low clouds trapped against the valley floor, holding the cold in like a lid. Above, high clouds that are already thinning, soon to burn off. Sagebrush and desert grasses and the familiar silhouette of these mountains against a winter sky.

What you can’t see is that my oldest, Bailey, moved out in September. That I still search for her when I get home, just to say hello.

What you can’t see is that they’ll all leave. All five. A blink and they’re gone. The privilege of them ours for a short season.

I stood on that road a long time. Boots in the gravel and snow, tripod legs steady under my hand, and I focused my eyes right past this scene, out past the ridge, and tried to picture her out there somewhere, making her way.

You can’t see any of that in the photograph.