Between Bozeman and Jackson lies the Madison River Valley. Dramatic, moody and magical. The past four years I have been driving through this landscape. Each season different: a sculpted carpet of green, leaves of glistening gold and branches of red, long and white as a snow globe, or the starkest color palette. In winter the Elk dot the snow covered valley floor. In fall the antelope gather in small groups as they migrate. Cattle is driven from winter to summer range down the highway. The greatest drama comes from the light that glances off the bench, reflects from the river, glazes down the mountain faces, or falls through the clouds. From edge to edge there is a spaciousness I only feel in this valley. I never grow tired of the experience. Last week I was here, coming and going. These photos were snapped while driving.