Moisture is scarce, horizontal. Juniper bark is shaggy, gray, like the hair of old women left behind. Their beaten leaves are almost green, scaly. Their bruised, dry fruit, brewed to a biting liquid which evens emotions thriving in such a place.
Emotions run high here, like the wind.
When the Lodgepoles, Limbers and Ponderosas grow thick, you can sit among them on their high ground, their soft needles cushioning you, their sturdy trunks sheltering you, and look back on Junipers, working to shade a hard, hard land.