Where a small creek entered the lake, a man sat with a dog. His knees were pulled up and he wrapped arms around his shins. The dog had the square head of a lab, but the coloring and feathers of an Irish setter. She sat attentively, waiting for the man to make a move.
The lake was a glacial tarn at the head of a valley. Beyond the lake, the mountains rose to a sharp granite spine with towers that ran roughly from the north west to the south east. They sat on the upper end of the lake looking down the valley they hiked to reach the lake. The ground was scoured clean to the granite by the glacier. In the low areas, pockets of tundra grew interspersed with scrub alpine fir, patches of green and green/black marbled the clean white of the scoured rock.
When he felt rested, the man slipped off his pack. He pulled out a water bottle and a paper bag with a bun, a few slices of salami and a wedge of brie. Last, he pulled out a ziplock back with some kibble. The kibble he poured onto a slat slab of granite. He tore the bun in half, spread the soft brie on the bread, added the slices and made his sandwich. As he put his lunch together, he watched the dog wolf down her lunch. When she finished, she sat watching the man eat his lunch.
She was patient. Still. Simply watching.