That frigid morning, just before the sun was cresting in the east, we headed down the mountain from Red River - falling snow just visible in streetlights of the town. The road was icy, and descent was slow, as pre-dawn light began to filter through the darkness in the shrouded, wintry sky that parted to reveal a thread of blue. But now, at dawn, the snow began to thin. we saw them just in time to veer away— a herd of sheep had gathered on the road, eyes on the rising sun of Christmas Day. How long we gathered there, I couldn't say— a dozen cars sat idling, patiently. At last, the sheep crossed over, and I snapped this photo of that snowy memory.