You walk across a bridge. Behind you is your hotel. In front of you is a park and the hot springs that make this a tourist town. You stop walking to admire the Colorado River, which, though you didn't know it at the time, begins in the Rocky Mountains, goes through the Grand Canyon, and ends in Mexico. The river is wide here. Taking it in is like taking a deep breath. The water is tree-bark green and, where it flows around rocks, frothy white. Then you continue walking, your moment of repose already gone.

Gore Creek, Vail

It was early October, and I didn't expect to have to fight my way through a snowstorm to reach Vail. I also didn't expect to wake up to 26 degrees. But this view, framed by a rickety wooden bridge, almost made it worthwhile. As the cold air bit at my cheeks and nose, I leaned over the bridge and stared at the blazing aspens, the snow covering the riverbank and weighing down the evergreen trees, and the early morning sunlight on the water. Only later did I notice the spider web interlacing the beams—the little flaw that turns pretty things into beautiful things.