Like clouds casting shadows on the earth, frozen gas bubbles are trapped in river ice so clear, it can’t be seen.
Bones from previous years’ hunts are uncovered as the snow clears.
Time in Wyoming isn’t measured in minutes, hours, or days, but in unpredictable bouts of weather. It’s a slow and sheltered world. When life is tied to nature the calendar falls away, and weather takes its place. Is the air cold, warm, or middling? Is the sky blue, or are clouds boiling above the horizon? Any interlude without wind is a shock to the senses, as if part of oneself had disappeared. Warmth and brilliant light can last a day, with winter’s return at dinnertime. Summer may never come, replaced by some unnamable season.