Saint Mary Lake

The sun slouched behind the jagged peaks cradling Saint Mary Lake, smearing the sky with molten orange and lazy lavender. A soft breeze skimmed the water, sending ripples toward the shore as we rode in our tourist boat, the hush of waves against the hull the only sound. She rested her head on my shoulder, our fingers woven together like ivy on an old fence, both mesmerized by the mountains’ perfect reflection in the glassy lake. The air, sharp with pine and damp earth, felt worlds away from the honking chaos they’d left behind. And in that quiet, wrapped in the vastness of Glacier National Park, our love felt just as steady, just as endless.