What started as twenty-six separate letters became a chronicle of daily magic - the kind you couldn't script if you tried. The kind that had Sarah and me saying through voice memos almost daily, "We can't make this shit up."

I've walked this path before - not this exact one, but the path of daily writing, of intentional processing through words. I knew from experience how this practice creates massive shifts within me. Something about the daily conclusions, the daily processing, the deliberate presence - it changes things. It changes everything.

Parallel to my writing, the daily voice memos with Sarah became a way to process the unbelievable sequences of events unfolding before me. Our exchanges were filled with equal parts wonder and laughter as we marveled at how the universe seemed to be showing off - orchestrating encounters and coincidences that felt too perfect to be random. [Where's the rooster emoji on this thing?]

That first month in Montana was pure magic - the kind of beginning that makes you believe in perfect endings. But then came month two and with it, the end of the honeymoon phase.

Reality crashed in like a cold mountain wind, bringing with it tough decisions, a bit of culture shock, and adjustments to certain comforts that touched every major compartment of life in ways I hadn't anticipated. 

The ground beneath my feet felt less stable, the path ahead less clear. During those rough days, Sarah's voice memos from Columbus, Ohio became my lifeline.

I needed an antidote to the rut I'd found myself in and a way to create changes here in Montana. That's when I turned back to what I knew would work: daily writing, daily processing, daily showing up on the page.

The writing was terrible at first. You can't force inspiration when you're not in the "write" headspace. But you can show up anyway. So I did.

Day after day, I made myself sit down and write. And slowly, as my focus returned to my personal nature, the writing started to flow again with ease.

Each day brought its own perfectly timed encounters and as I reflect tonight on the journey through the alphabet, its theme seems to have centered entirely around the gorgeous souls I've met day in and day out.

The River's Edge became my stage for meeting kindred spirits - starting with Abbe, the therapist whose cool dog Doc led to a conversation that would reveal our shared spiritual wavelength. Here was someone who not only knew about Bashar but was part of a law of attraction group - the first person I met who reflected back that particular kind of consciousness exploration I'd wondered if I'd find in Montana.

That encounter was like a cosmic wink, a reminder that your tribe exists everywhere if you're present enough to recognize them.

Then there was Clint (saved in my phone as "Clint aka Peter Cetera" for his uncanny resemblance), who emerged as a kind of spiritual elder, our pending coffee date holding the promise of more wisdom to come.

The daily rhythms brought their own cast of characters: Heather, whose polite daily hellos transformed into a beautiful, deep conversation that last sunny day before winter claimed the grass where Finn had been basking.

Finn found his own Montana soulmate in Baron, which led to wonderful conversations with Baron's grandma Cynthia during our shared dog park visits. Her solid presence revealed itself fully when she called during the recent power outage to offer her home as shelter. She was also one of many who opened their homes for Thanksgiving as well. So many generous, gorgeous people appeared in my world, each one making Montana feel more like home.

Then there was Steve, whose husky Jasper walked with Finnster and me one day. While he's now in his late 70s, he's young at heart, and shared his experience living off-grid in Baraga back in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan before moving to the Yak here in Montana - an area that completely fascinates me to explore. Steve, in his endearing directness, asked who I'd moved here with. When I answered, "My cat and dog," he followed up with, "Oh! So you're single?" and then declared, "You know with a mind like yours you're going to need an older guy, right?" - a comment that made me laugh and playfully assert my preference for younger men. [Still looking for that rooster emoji on this thing]

Lynne came along one day with her sweet dog Batman, and she and I became somewhat frequent walking companions. She began helping to feed the cats several days a week as well, and she brings her own brand of wisdom and free spirit to our friendship. Her invitation to her upcoming drum circle winter solstice potluck was met with an enthusiastic "Yes, girlfriend. Let me hippie it up with you. I'll bring the egg dip."

The cat colony attracted its own constellation of caring souls - most notably Jim the retired submariner as well as Claire and Clay who all offered to help the cause. During the alphabet journey, we had a great Sunday morning breakfast at the local Night Owl restaurant to kick off our plans and develop a strategy for saving these kitties. What a fun gathering that was. 

Some encounters felt like divine timing: JD, who I met on one of "the apps" saw no reason why I couldn't continue my Michigan-style nature adventures here, backing his confidence with a gift of the most comprehensive outdoor survival kit imaginable. I suddenly felt so prepared. So ready.

The very next day, I would learn of the passing of Shad's father - an encounter that taught me more about grace in grief than I could have imagined. That tragedy enabled the opportunity to share time with those Great Pyrenees dogs suddenly without their human or a home, and test my outdoor survival skills with success and unsuccess as I made my way to them daily. Shad and his family were really special people, and I'm thankful for that extraordinarily special encapsulation of time shared with him, and them. Some people enter our lives briefly but leave permanent marks on our hearts - Shad and his family were such people, teaching me about resilience and community in ways that went far beyond the circumstances that brought us together.

And I certainly can't forget the snowiest of days, when Randall and Kris's gracious acceptance of a stranger (me, after miles of walking in the pounding snow storm with two Great Pyrenees after hours of trying to free my stuck car) reminded me of the immediate kinship that can form in moments of need. 

Holli came in my world before this Montana Musings A-Z project began and taught me Burlesque, sold me a fantastic life insurance policy, and invited me to make cheese with one of the coolest women I've ever met, Sue (a fellow quantum physics lover!). That was an amazing day somewhere around C or D if I recall correctly. Though I haven't seen Holli since this project began, she has offered consistent warmth since my arrival in this foreign land and her graciousness deserves better attention than I've had time to give to it lately. I look forward to nurturing our connection again soon.

Back here on the homestead, the simple daily exchanges with my lovely landlords on whose property I have found home gradually weave into the fabric of belonging, seemingly charged with their own kind of magic.

There's one character in my Montana story whose chapter feels unfinished, waiting perhaps for future pages to be written. Some connections, I'm learning, need their own timing, their own season to unfold. 

Each person, each moment, each seemingly random encounter contributed to making this period the most magical, magnificent, soul-feeding time.

As I sit here reflecting on these twenty-six letters, I'm amazed at the change. I almost don't remember that girl of A and B and C. She was so sad. She was a bit heartbroken. A wee bit lost. Confused. Disoriented.

But she found her freaking way.

Not through forcing change in the external world, but rather, through internal reflection and writing. Those internal shifts then bled over into the external world in natural, organic ways.

The order is critical: internal, then external.

It's the only foundation that is solid. This stuff is sticking. It's me. It's in me, of me, within me. It's 'wherever I go there I am' kind of stuff.

Tonight I find myself moved. Shifted. Excited. Comfy. Ready. Renewed. Grateful. Content. Eager. Joyful. Thrilled.

So we end where we began, but different. Twenty-six letters began with anticipation and ended with something the Germans have a word for - something that captures the enchanted quality of days where the universe seems to orchestrate moments beyond imagination: zauberlich.

Montana Musings A-Z is a wrap, but I'm just beginning. [rooster emoji, anyone?]