Seamus, our digital station icon and the National Weather Service made the same forecast this morning. They told Aki and I to expect heavy rain and wind when we reached False Outer Point. We find gray skies, but no wind or rain. I’m overdressed in my storm coat, vest and sweatshirt but am able to strip down to my tee shirt when the sun comes out.
Two, battling belted king fishers fly past when we round the point. But my eye is drawn to currant, maple and wild crab apple leaves that have already show their fall colors. Some have dropped onto the still wet rocks. One rests uneasily in a tide pool, sides curled up as in a vain attempt to stay dry. Everything is ahead of schedule this year. The salmon runs hit early, the leaves are already turning. We have two gallons of blue berries in the freezer and August is barely half gone.
Aki hesitates at the edge of a swollen stream that cuts a path to Lynn Canal through the beach gravel. For a moment I think she is reacting, like me, to the defacement. Someone, not without drawing skills, has painted white designs on a line of beach boulders. They can’t be religious symbols for what faith would advocate vandalism? They can’t be meant as art. What artist would ruin natural beauty? That leaves ego of the kind that can only be swelled by destruction.