It's a Montana fall. The type of fall that slips into winter before the leaves even find the time to change colors. The type of fall that leaves summer behind in one effortless motion. It's the type of fall the doesn't melt the seasons into one another - its motion is far more extreme. This is a Montana fall.
So in this cold, a recent snowfall struggling to melt, I stand in a field. It's just me, my guitar and the mountains closing in behind me. My guitar is my life. My Montana is my soul.