Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A • S P R I N G 2 0 1 7 36 And they did. e closer they got to the upper lake and the dwindling runoff from snowmelt, the more lilies they found, blooming out for a short few weeks before they retreated into the rough soil for the next three seasons. It was all so beauti- ful back then, and seemed almost like a dream now. Jack heard what used to be Iceberg Creek before he saw it; just a bright trickle now, finding its way below lower Iceberg Lake, across a short fall of rock, meandering through the hardscape and dying pines, disappearing from sight only a short way off. He wondered briefly if the creek now ended just over to his left, where it seemed to disappear into the heat-soaked ground, laid to permanent rest. He decided he would rather not know, and stepped over the rivulet, pushing on toward the stub- born loiter of shadows, where he hoped to find a lily and a resting place. Brown and grey. All the colors of early spring seemed to have been filtered from the landscape, as if someone applied a sepia wash to what used to be a colorful photograph. It reminded him of other photos he had seen of Mars; and he stopped suddenly, discouraged and despondent, now thinking that he couldn't possible keep his promise today. He lifted his canteen toward the blue blaze of sky, put it to his lips and tilted his head upward to drink, stopping short as a wink of yellow caught his eye. "Molly, I think we've found it," he said cautiously, almost reverently, lowering the can- teen and stepping off the trail, moving toward his one hope for the day. And there it was peeking up, just peeking, over a misshapen rock that had partially blocked his view. He moved the rock aside, and gazed in appreciation at the small dance of petals, which seemed to bow to him in greeting. It was a glacier lily. And it was perfect. Jack put down his canteen and unbuckled his fanny- pack, then knelt down next to the flower, taking in its presence, which now seemed more special than ever. He hadn't really believed he would find one he real- ized. Yet here it was, a gift it seemed, precious and sadly vulnerable. "It's perfect, Molly, isn't it? Just what we were looking for. We didn't give up, and here…" Jack sighed loudly, his throat clenching, as he opened his pack, reached in, and pulled out a bright blue knit hat and a small, wooden box lined with plastic. ere was no wind, another blessing, and he tipped the box over the flower, as Molly spilled out in a handful of whitish ash, covering the petals and the ground beneath. Jack sprinkled a bit of water from his can- teen over the lily as it mixed with his tears, settling the ash, and then laid the blue knit cap nearby, covering it with the rock, the lily-yarn facing the sky. He sat back, gazed up at the heavens, and closed his eyes. Where have all the graveyards gone? Gone to flowers, everyone… He couldn't get that song out of his head. Watch a Glacier Lily unfold: www.distinctlymontana.com/glacierlily172 DISTINCTLY MONTANA | DIGITAL BROWN AND GREY. ALL THE COLORS OF EARLY SPRING SEEMED TO HAVE BEEN FILTERED FROM THE LANDSCAPE, AS IF SOMEONE APPLIED A SEPIA WASH TO WHAT USED TO BE A COLORFUL PHOTOGRAPH.

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