During the summer, Jackson Hole’s Aspens disappear into all the other greenery. They’re short compared to the cottonwoods, poplar and spruce, and their small round leaves fade into the deep green all around them. But in October, when all the other leaves have fallen, the Aspens become delicate white hands waving thousands of twinkling amber and yellow lights. Against the backdrop of evergreens and naked limbs, the Aspens are the last trees out on Saturday night, still dancing in their party clothes long after everyone else has gone to sleep.
These days I tend to go to bed pretty early and get up similarly early to run (which is why I like winter … an excuse to sleep in and run later), but I still like to think there’s some youthful, hidden Aspen inside of me.