In Yellowstone’s Lamar Valley, as we watched fruitlessly for wolves in the evenings, the sun occasionally leaked through the omnipresent low clouds:
Once it gave us a rainbow:
And once it came in low and sideways, washing the flanks of the hills
We had our backs to those hills, and the light crept up on us almost unawares:
I am glad I turned around, and lifted up mine eyes unto the hills:
What Thomas Chatterton called “the burnish’d mountain-top”, but this one was masquerading as a sand dune.
Partial compensation for the dearth of wolves.