My lunch stayed hot in the styrofoam package on the passenger's seat and my books had already fallen to the floor. Bend after bend, sixty-seven miles per hour to my destination.

"A little bit farther."

It was May, only a month or two away from summer, but that doesn't mean much in the Rockies. A few inches of white stuff had dusted the mountains last night above seven thousand feet.

It must have begun with the rain that began falling on my way home from the library last night and continued all night long. Now the snow reached down nearer and nearer to my car as the road climbed the canyon.

One book lay open on the floor, the one with two hundred pages waiting for me to read before class at 3:30 today. Occasionally the pages would flip by, trying to get my attention, but they would have to wait for the perfect picnic ground and lunch.

"Dewitt Picnic Area," I mumbled out loud. In all the years of living in Logan, I had never stopped here. "I'll take a look."

The dirt road led down toward the river, and the mountains were white not too far above.

"Why didn't I find this before?" It was beautiful! Not only did the road lead to the river, it led into the river. The river was swollen with spring run-off. Enough water spilled over the banks to submerge the road in the lower picnic area.

I rolled down the window and watched the cold water spill along, over sticks, around tree trunks, but I had already made up my mind.

With the car door open, I could hear twigs snapping below the tires as the car rolled forward and into the flow. Steam hissed and rose as the oil pan lowered to the water's surface. Water splashed lightly around the tires, but never threatened to pour into my open door. Once in the middle, I shut off the engine and relaxed.

Then I smelled lunch. A cool breeze blew reminders of sweet and sour chicken through the car, and I remembered the hunger that gnawed away inside. As I shoveled rice into my mouth with chopsticks, I again began to take note of my surroundings.

Twenty feet away, the river’s main channel ran deep. Not only in the center, but also through reeds that struggled and danced along the banks. An occasional log or entire tree would whirl by, bobbing and spinning in the muddy brown current.

Above the river, aspen, pine, and cliffs. Cliffs reaching toward the low clouds, eventually becoming powdered with snow, looming almost above me.

As I watched, leaning out of the car to command a better view, the entire scene finally began to surround me. Of course, it had been there the whole time, but I hadn't. It often takes time to let nature seep inside you, to let tension and worries seep out.

When I eventually dropped the last of the rice into the river for the fish, I was well into the reading I had brought along. My mind would drift occasionally, with a sudden gust of wind or unexpected bird song, before returning to the page before me.

Breaths came easier now, deeper and more relaxed. The hours had passed quickly, though, and class would begin soon. I rinsed my fingertips in the water, closed the car door, and started the engine.

On the way home, the mountains looked different than before. I felt as if my eyes were opened wider than before, as if I could see the world more clearly and completely.

The frothy river, swaying green trees, whitened mountains, and dark clouds that rolled along them together created an image that reminded me more of music than painting.