Mountainbilly Wine

We ate barbequed bison ribs and drank whiskey

inside her lean-to. Her miniature paintings hung

on the slanted wall, coyotes mated in darkness.

We spied on tourists from Reno who rafted to

casinos during the day and slept in RVs at night.

In the cold mornings, when dew is still slush,

calm in hot springs watching bears fight for

edible greens and berries, we laughed at nature.

Still elated with nature, after illegally harvesting

grapes from a locally owned organic vineyard,

we made our own rotgut. We mixed whiskey and

smashed grapes, called it “Mountainbilly Wine”.

She promised that hipsters would buy it by the

case and that there will always be days like these.