Coyotes scamper through the wild

 

 The Tetons resist words. The Teton mountains are deaf and mute and blind. No camera can photograph them. No student can describe them. Yet they tower above our Coyote group, absolute masters of the paradox of near and far in the same instant. This afternoon clouds from a passing storm seem to stream from the snowy rock faces as if the stone itself was ablaze. Down on the path a cold winter wind makes the earlier sunshine a dream. 

We hike along the edge of String Lake and Jenny Lake. A massive male elk browses in the afternoon bushes. His antlers toss slowly as he raises and lowers his head. Abandoned columns of burned conifer trunks reveal hidden torques and sinews of arboreal engineering. 

The light here is thin yet a subtle dust vivifies and dims the hues of the color. Today blue is the predominant sharp undertone and Jenny Lake stretches into the far distance, utterly quiet. Our students when asked the best thing about today commonly replied: the views. They are right. Here everything is awake -- the visiting, cheeky bird, a sharp conifer needle and the chattering stones visible on the bottom of a glacial lake that itself quiets the world and embraces the chatter of young voices.