It’s as if this heavy rain washed all beauty and light from the moraine. Without their displays of yellow green leaves trail side alders and willows look drained of life. Willing to put up with a soaking, Aki and I press on to the river finding only gray green water flooding over its banks and a circus of swallows hunting newly hatched mosquitos.
Tiny islands of summer do appear on the next trail taken: sparkles of rain water trapped in the upturned leaves of lupines, garish red strings of alder pollen blossoms, an American Robin, optimistic songs of wren and thrust. Needing a richer display I lead Aki into a tiny spruce forest covered with thick yellow green moss. The little dog perks up, dashing over the moss softened ground in search of beaver sign. I see it first — a large cotton wood tree first felled then striped of bark by beaver teeth to reveal the tree’s clean white flesh.
In this lush island’s heart a car from the 1930’s rusts away, paintless except for one oval shaped headlight stubborn enough to retain a coat of green. Nearby the feathers and bones of a Canada Geese, stripped of flesh by ravens shine with rain.