by isaac black
half an hour from the top we could see through a nook in the valley over the great salt lake to antelope island. the sun was starting to set and saturating the forest and the rust-colored slate with agate light. when we made camp our skin was perfumed by brush and fir sap sublimated into the moist air.
the yellow crescent moon was setting behind sundial peak as our dome tent glowed and the clouds in the west glimmered gray pink from a sun taking its time to settle. lake blanche was glassy and pristine as we luxuriated in our sleeping bags, listening to the basin’s silent music.
in the morning from its rocky bench our tent unzipped to a view of the lake and its ruined dam. we broke camp in the stillness and began our hike back down.