The Snake River is still.
Its surface becomes a mirror,
holding the Tetons in perfect reflection,
as though the mountains themselves
have been suspended between earth and sky.
The scene feels untouched by time.
The river bends through the valley
as it has for centuries.
The peaks rise above it,
unchanged by the passing years,
their jagged silhouettes etched against the horizon.
Generations have come and gone.
The river remembers them all.
And the mountains remain.
Through storm and sunlight,
through seasons and centuries,
they have watched over this valley,
silent witnesses to the unfolding story of the West.
Perhaps that is why places like this move us.
Not because they are unchanged,
but because they remind us
how fleeting our own lives are
against the measure of deep time.
The reflection will fade with the wind.
The light will shift.
The moment will pass.
But the mountains endure,
carrying within their stone
the memory of all who have stood here before,
and all who have yet to come.
The memory of the mountains.
Image captured in Grand Teton National Park
Fall, 2015
Canon 5D Mark II
Canon 24-70mm f/2.8 L USM
