Bitch Creek (and her railroad trestle):

Rock. Wood. Cattle. Even People. All carried. Lifted across stretches of earth by rail car. The old evidences of life gone by still existing. They evolve, are twisted and reclaimed. But still. There was a time when railroads carried it all. Thundering through country, rolling quite soundly across this creek, that hollow. Shooting electric from forests edge into the great wide open. It thrills to still see proofs. Imagination mixing with the still healthy smell of creosote. The craft of such structures. Our travels to and from. The linger and gaze of minds upon what once was. Idling ourselves in the present for a glimpse of past. Moons having set the rails to quick bands of silver. Deep Tetons holding court above. Horses distant. The fuzz and static of big creeks spanned; heard even above the internal locomotions of black diesels pulling thousand-ton children strung from here to God.