On our drive through Snowy Range in Wyoming last weekend, we caught a glimpse of two moose grazing in a meadow near the road. The only reason we stopped was the line of cars pulled over.

In our part of the country, and maybe everywhere, though I can’t speak for everywhere, a string of cars on the roadside usually means someone has spotted an animal.

A wild animal.

It might be bighorn sheep or elk – two favorites in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Or it could be moose.

We slowed the car, found a suitable parking spot, and walked back to the line of cars. We looked into the meadow, the same as everyone else.

Sure enough, it was a pair of moose.

Wow!

They seemed huge and were a lovely shade of deep brown. Like dark chocolate.

Rick dashed to the car for the camera. The result is the picture that you see with this blog post. Yes, there is a moose in the frame.

You must trust us on this. Think we could use a longer lens for our camera?

Drivers continued to slow down and inquire why everyone else was stopped.

“What are you looking at?” one asked.

“Is it a moose?” another guessed.

For the moment there was a feeling of community among us. We were sharing something quite wonderful. A glimpse into the wild.

I have a theory about this. I think that most of us live fairly ordinary lives, tucked into our homes in suburbia. We are defined by civilization. It makes things easy and safe. But all that asphalt and conditioned air leave us yearning for a taste of the wild. It’s buried deep inside, like an itch you can’t quite scratch.

Maybe it’s a connection to a time when life wasn’t so safe, so predictable, so sanitized. Some of us try to address the itch by going camping or river rafting or mountain biking or fishing, or hiking.

We garden, we ride Harleys, or keep horses or chickens or llamas.

Anything to scratch the itch.

To remember that at our core, we are still wild and free.

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