Rain rather than snow spots the windshield as Aki and I head out the road. We don’t complain for the weatherman promised heavy rain that would have melted all snow. Instead we have uncertain drizzle that merely shrinks the pack.

Gun shots block out the moving river’s sound at the trailhead.  Deciding that the trail will not lead us into a hail of bullets I pull on snow shoes while Aki assumes a defensive stance at my side.  When, I wonder. did she learn to identify gunshots with danger?  The noise soon ends confirming my suspicion that it came from young hunters emptying their guns before the trip home.

Now naked of snow, the old growth spruce lining the trail rise starkly from white ground. Last weekend this would have been a place of winter wonder. Today it offers simpler fare; yellow green moss wrapped around tree branches. prismatic bags of snow melt hanging from each twig, and the sound of water courses resurrected with snow melt. I think of a doctor announcing the mother’s death in child birth, cushioning the blow with news that the child will survive. Then I feel shame. That is tragedy and this is another rain forest day where winter and fall whirl in and out of our lives with each change in wind direction.

The shrinking snow pack shows sign of a recent wind storm. In the deep woods we have to duck under a broken cottonwood trunk and we find its beautifully shaped leaves in scattered pattens on the trail. We also find chunks of moss and lichen covered branches on the ground after being blown out of the canopy.

Taking advantage of the freedom provided by snowshoes I move off trail and onto a meadow drained by a now charged stream. We cross very fresh tracks of a deer that had to drag its rear hooves over the snow surface.  He is very near. Aki stares across the stream and warns me of the deer’s presence with a bark. Wanting to reduce the animals’ stress I backtrack to the woods and we take the trail to the river.

The tide is out but we find little action on the river’s sand bars. A single bufflehead duck rides a stiff current toward the sea and I wonder if he is that last of the gang I watched float past an eagle at this same spot in the fall. Later we findt the rest of his raft fishing in some eddies up river.

We climb a rise which offers a cruising eagle’s view of the river. Almost all color has drained from the landscape below. I concentrate on the pans of broken river ice melt on the higher sand bars where they were left by last night’s falling tide.  Aki leans against my leg, eyes turned back the way we came, watching my back.