Flooding tides, rain, and a warm front worked to take the beauty away from this stream delta. Just last week translucent ice capped rounded beach rocks and white snow brought the innocent look of new creations. Now we have a false spring, all gray and brown. It suits the gulls and ducks (Barrow golden eyes, buffleheads, mallards) but not the eagles, who no longer gather near the stream. It suits those in transit through sadness.

Rain falls, a soft shower that substitutes for the tears I should be shedding for a recently dead friend. He, a geologist, would have been bounding around the beach gravel, quickly reading the history that I can only tread upon. Years ago, we stood on a nearby beach in night made darker by fog and rain, sharing a unexpected joy at being alive. Most people would have scrambled away to warmth and artificial light. Eric stayed for the wild comfort on offer. He would have found more wild comfort here. May he be at piece.