On a very snowy night camped at MacDonald Lake,
we shiver in our sagging tent as winds snap aspen
branches overhead and we wonder just why we chose
early June and not July to camp in Glacier Park where
early summer is nothing more than a late-winter.
But something happens to revive our sinking spirits
beyond measure-wolves begin to howl echoing back
and forth between the glacial horns so high above.
We listen and listen, no longer aware of the cold, till
the very early hours of the morning, and before we
go to sleep we choose to stay another week whether
or not it snows and blows by day or by starless night.