In Wyoming, the land stretches wide enough to lose yourself in — and silent enough that no one would ever know you did. In South Pass City, the old mining town leans into the wind, its bones rattling quietly through the empty streets. The Plains Hotel still holds the sorrow of a bride who never found her way home, and the Ferris Mansion’s heavy doors creak under the weight of visitors who never truly leave.
Out by Devils Tower, the stone rises sharp against the sky, wrapped in legends older than any town the settlers built — older than the words they carved into maps. The mountains breathe cold and steady in the Wind River Range, hiding the names of those who thought they could master the wilderness.
Here, they say “Equal Rights” — but in Wyoming, the land offers no promises: everyone who comes here stands alone… sometimes forever.