Late afternoon at Button Rock House. The snow comes down at angles. The crows, forty or more, weave circular dives and glides all to flap and land in a single fir along our dirt road. The Slab, that treeless peak, is perfect in its snow bound tilt, and the distant road flashes to white in one wind. A raptor call, rings from the East. But Button Rock herself looms behind us with an opaque snow curtain hiding all the caves and toothy creaturas.
crazy Frank hitching
Writer's Note: The word "creaturias" stems from a conversation with my Spanish tutor while hiking our local environs. She used it to refer to the small animals living amid the many boulders.