waning

by underswansea

RCE_3174

Clear as a bell up the creek. The ridges crisp against the sky. The snow deeper in the chutes where the rocks are steep. There is a hundred snags overhead more deadly than a drawer full of loose shells. The jays and rabbits know it. So do the cougars and coyotes. The moose are black, knee deep and surrounded by breath. Still plenty of tracks before the storm turns into stars.

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