As the crow squawks curses at the little dog, I wonder whether the designs made by snail slime on False Outer Point rocks is a communication from God. Aki gives no push back to the idea so I turn it over in mind like this noisy crow might play with a mussel shell after his chicks fledge. After all, the snail tracks do loop like cursive written by a steady hand. Our God of miracles is fully capable of the attempt. But do we have the smarts to translate?
The crows dominate the high ground on our walk except for the last little headland we have to round to reach the Rainforest Trail. There, a stuffy looking bald eagle roosts higher than a crow, which appears to skulk in the lower branches of a hemlock. Below, years worth of eagle’s scat have fertilized Bluebells of Scotland and Columbine plants. The flowers of both give some color to this gray day.