"Mount Aeneas," by Margo Whitmire.
"A few remnants of the summer's huckleberry yield are frozen in subtle indigo spurts amid the spruce-fir forest and fledgling whitebark pines. Mountain ash berries pop in bright bursts of red-orange. Every step along the trail is a satisfying crunch of dirt that has crystallized into little sheaths of ice. A wildlife biologist I met at the trailhead is heading toward the summit to tally the eagles and falcons that fly over the narrow ridge top. The day before, she tells me, a golden eagle flying above suddenly turned itself upside down, grabbed a finch, and flipped right-side up again without missing a beat."