On the side of a mountain in Colorado, I walked through golden grass and sagebrush. The only sounds were the magpies and the scraping of dry grass in the wind. There was a large elk above, near the treeline. He gazed down at me, like the old wise man of the mountain, waiting to answer all of my questions, but at that moment, I had none. I sat in the grass and waited, surrounded by the golden light of the low sun and the smell of sage.