Dark Morning
HAT I REMEMBER MOST is his eyelashes—hoar-frost fringing them in the truck headlights. He was a still-life of death, encased in white crystal, lying flat on his back with eyes closed and arms out, almost peaceful. What had started as a quick run from Salt Lake for some fall streamer fishing had quickly turned into something else entirely. The disappointment of seeing another rig parked that early down the
