Aki slept through last night’s windstorm. She didn’t react when the neighbor’s trash bin slammed into his house. As I tried to ignore rain hitting the bedroom window like it had been shot form a water house, she stretched and yawned. This morning, during a storm break, the little dog and I head out to North Douglas Island to count the newly downed trees.
Normally the trees along the Outer Point Trail drip on us during rain breaks. Today they don’t—something I attribute to the wind, which must have blown the branches clean. Shattered limbs of alder sheared off during the storm are scattered on the trail. Near a headland, we find the only new windfall—a hundred-year-old spruce that ripped up part of the boardwalk trail when it toppled. I ask Aki if the tree made any noise when it fell without witnesses last night. She shared no opinion on the matter. But I could see the ripped-up roots and shattered trunk sections—visual evidence of loud sounds made in the night.