Rain seems to have driven the old growth birds to ground, or at least to the nests. Only the Stellar’s Jay, the forest’s policeman, shows himself. He throws a hard stare at me from between branches of a spruce tree.
The heavy rain drops hammering the beaver pond have little effect on the pond lily flowers and their broad leaves. Some of the flowers float on the surface like lotus blossoms. Most have risen a few inches into the air where they sway in the wind.
The beach, when we reach it, is empty of birds. You’d think a guy could find some crows or gulls skulking around a tidepool. But nothing swims off the beach or walks the tide line. I spot a bald eagle flying out over Lynn Canal. It is too far away for me to see if it still has its chestnut feathers of youth.