The Yellowstone

Mac Maclean rolled over in his blankets and smelled something and waited to open his eyes. It was sagebrush - he pulled the small in deep. Sagebrush made piquant by the dew. He had come home.
He lay for a moment and enjoyed teh feeling. He expected to see Chimney Rock today, and for him that markedt the real beginning of teh West. Where the land changed. Where the rocks make wild, romantic shapes. Where it got dry, and high. Where the grass was Buffalo grass. Where the blue haze on the horizon was mountains. Where he belonged.