I used to have dreams about standing atop high, treeless ridges with a big lens, photographing things like Northern pygmy-owls. Except, I had never been on a high, treeless ridge, had a big lens or known what a Northern pygmy-owl was. Two years in Montana and these things start to feel routine. After checking on an old great gray owl nest in the forest below, I was drawn to the song of this little owl on my way back to the car. Up the hill we went.

Just another day in the west.