I walked with my two loyal companions down the lightly packed trail on a cool October morning. The air was moist and earthy, lightly scented with pine. We reached the end of the path and sat on our favorite rock far above the Valley of Contentment, a name the Ute tribe gave the place that has become my home. The fog drifted between the foothills of the Rocky Mountains causing the peaks to become islands adrift in a sea of fluffy cloud. A solitary bird perched at the top of a pine and cheeped a lonely call across the empty space. Somewhere a few miles away a dog barked at a pack of coyotes yipping and yodeling in jubilation of the day. It was a moment in time that could have been today or 10,000 years ago. I rejoiced in it.