This morning, with its moderate temperatures and lack of rain, the fog brought me joy. That changed in the mountains as I struggle to walk on slick ice trails in the rains. The fog softens and envelops the bare tree forest along Gold Creek and cuts off the mountain sides from view. I look for the tracks of the insomniac bear that still robs neighborhood garbage cans on pickup day but find only those of dogs and man. We had a banner salmon harvest from the local streams. He (or she) should be fat and happy and hibernating in a mountainside hobbit hole, not filling his stomach with man’s cast offs. If you see him, tell him its bed time for bruins.