ESTESBOG

  It was the end of an early fall day on the eastern Colorado prairie. The sun, dulled by a layer of dusty haze, had settled onto the western horizon as if resting for a moment before sinking out of sight. The temperature was on the warm side and belied the rapid drop that would occur once the sun deserted the cloudless sky. The still air was nearly silent except for the distant pop-pop-pop of a single cylinder diesel engine on an oil well somewhere to the northeast and the occasional clackety-rattle of an orange-winged grasshopper changing locations in hopes of one last mating as the day came to a close. The shadows had been longer and darker of late, the product of shortening days and bone dry air. The same air was spice scented with sand sage, prairie dog weed, and the countless other aromatic herbs of the shortgrass prairie at the end of summer.

            On a low ridge facing the distant western horizon sat a woman with her knees drawn up to her chest. Betsy Robinson was a District Wildlife Manager, the unique form of game warden-biologist employed by the Colorado Division of Wildlife. She came here on occasion to be alone and to think. Read more…