Silent Water, Ancient Stone
The storm had finally decided to stay.
All afternoon it had been negotiating with the peaks above Bear Lake, dragging its grey weight across the ridgelines, dusting the treeline in fresh snow and settling into the valleys like something ancient returning home. By late afternoon, an odd stillness had fallen over the water. The kind of stillness that feels less like calm and more like the world holding its breath.
And then the lake became a mirror.
Every snow-laden pine, every cloud-wrapped summit, every shade of grey the Rocky Mountain sky could conjure, pulled down into the water with perfect, almost unnerving precision. Two worlds stacked on top of each other, separated by nothing more than a surface you could break with a single stone.
I didn't throw one.
Some moments deserve to be left exactly as you found them. This was one of them.
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