If I had remembered that it was Friday the 13th I may not have planned this tour of the Treadwell ruins with Aki this morning. I am not particularly superstitious and nothing bad has ever happened to me on a Friday when it fell on the 13th day of the month. But, with winds gusting to sixty-two knots and hour through the ruin’s mix-hardwood forest, I might be pushing my luck.
We pass a freshly toppled clump of alder tree and I wonder if how many more are about to fall to the wind. Aki soldiers on as gusts wraps her ears against the side of her head. The wind appears to have swept all birds off the beach. Only two mergansers bob in the shelter of the old mine’s airshaft. Near the old wharf a raven settles out the wind in the lee of a big spruce tree. Not wanting to incur the bird’s ill will or let it curse us with bad luck, Aki and leave him to his thoughts.