This beauty is tucked between multiple geysers, surrounded by a low-lying valley on one side that leads to a riverbank, and the other side has a multitude of trails and wild animals roaming free. It’s stunning. I wasted no time running straight toward it, ready to be blown away by the magnitude of it all.
Blown away is an understatement.
From my understanding, Biscuit Basin is the closesthydrothermal geyser from here, allowing the spring to be geothermally heated. Not necessarily terms I can comprehend. However, I know that heat warms things, and that’s good enough for me. The directory pamphlet Sheila dropped at our door the other day explained everything we needed to know before visiting most of the springs in Yellowstone.
One of the main necessities being bear spray. I made sure to pack some for each of us because there ain’t no way I’m about to be a black bear’s breakfast.
“Quit your bitchin’ and come look at this,” I tell Easton as I cease my steps, hands on my hips while I take in the view. He settles beside me, and his sharp inhale confirms we’re thinking the same thing.
I’m not sure words or pictures could ever do this justice. It’s spectacular.
Hot steam permeates the air while the waters below are a bold shade of velvety blue and emerald green, mixed with vibrant streaks of orange and yellow. Somehow, the disarray of colors creates something so organic, it feels like we’re witnessing a gift from Mother Nature herself.
“It’s incredible.”
I swing my head toward Easton, curious to know more of what he’s thinking. “Worth it, right?” He nods, and I continue, redirecting my sights to the spring below us. “I’ve always been fascinated by nature. It’s mostly why I love to travel so much. Everywhere I’ve ever been, there’s something different to explore. Something new to discover. Yet, out of all the places I’ve visited, nothing has ever put me in awe like this does. I’m not sure I could have imagined this on my own.”
There’s nearly a few dozen steps leading toward the small hot pool just to the side of the main spring. It’s big enough fortwenty people, if not more, but today it’s vacant, aside from us.
I’m fascinated by the way the current stirs the spring to the north, causing the colors to mix into a natural riptide. It’s oddly calming amid what I’m sure resembles chaos when the surrounding geysers erupt.
But today, there’s stillness. An idle vacancy.
“I don’t get to travel much,” Easton announces beside me, eyes trained down the riverbank. “Aside from work, I mean.”
I figured that. He doesn’t strike me as someone who’s well-traveled. He’s got that homegrown energy about him. Nothing wrong with that, just not what I’m used to.
“I could guess that,” I tell him, no judgement in my tone. “Most people live their entire lives without traveling the world. And that’s if they ever travel at all.”
“I hate it.”
“Yeah?”
“I want my life to be different.”
There’s something devastatingly serious about that statement. Another crack in my heart forms. We’re alike in so many ways, but the one thing that makes us different is that Easton has never done anything to change it.
Until now, I’m guessing. If the history with his brother and Sydney he shared with me has anything to do with it, it would make sense.
My hope is for Easton to leave Wyoming confident in who he is, despite what he promised to do or be.
The fact that he cares enough about his brother to make that sort of vow to him shows me what kind of guy he is.
A rarity. Gentle and willing to sacrifice it all for those he loves.
“So, make it different,” I say. “Do something different.Your life is in your hands, Easton. What are you gonna do with it?”
He gazes off in the distance for a moment before whispering, “I wish I knew the answer to that. All I’ve ever wanted is to have the freedom to live the life I want. It’s wild to know I have that now.”
I see so much hurt inside of a man I’ve only ever known to show care and compassion toward me. He’s kind. And kind people are usually the ones who get hurt the most.
The world expects us to be a friend to everyone. To love thy neighbor. But what if we never receive that same kindness in return? Are we supposed to just deal with it and accept the shitty end of every stick?
Bump that.
I’m confident his uncertainty will lead to a beautiful kind of healing. There’s growth in challenge.
“What would Ben do if he were here?”
