Mount Moran holds the last violet light above Oxbow Bend, while a few elk wade the Snake River at the far left of the frame. Fall color lines the bank, and the sky over Grand Teton National Park runs from rose at the horizon to lavender overhead, all of it doubled in the still water. We were not supposed to be in Wyoming that autumn. Italy had been on the calendar for months, and the first year of the pandemic took it off. Rather than give up the time, we drove east to Jackson to see Grand Teton and Yellowstone instead. That evening we sat on the riverbank as the sun dropped behind the range and waited for the color. It built slowly, and as it peaked the elk began to cross. It was not the trip we had planned, and I have stopped wishing it were.
