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April 2014, vol 10, no 1

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Tony Burfield


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.

xmas eve—
crazy Frank hitching
down canyon

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.