This is a first, I think as a bald eagle’s scat plops onto the car’s windshield. My hat has been touched in such a way by crows and gulls, but no eagle has before decorated my person or property with its elimination. For some reason, I feel honored rather than victimized by the eagle’s act. The little dog and I are returning from another North Douglas hike. The trail was empty of people and dogs. Almost no blue berries remain to be picked, few birds offered to pose for my camera. There was a robin that trotting along in front of us, employing the old wounded bird trick to lead us away from its young. A red huckleberry bush provided the only excitement. One of its branches was loaded with marble-sized berries that proved to be very sweet. But all of its neighbors were as barren as a salmon stream in winter.