Several few days ago, a dog walker died on the trail Aki and I take to the beach. Another hiker found the body but couldn’t approach because the man’s German shepherd protected his body. The news story didn’t report the exact location, just that a woman found the body on the trail near the tree line. I don’t need to know anything else about the death other than it took place on a beach that he probably loved as much as I.

He might have died in the sun but today the beach is wet, windy, and chilling. Gulls watch, without much apparent interest, a raft of mergansers, golden eyes, and mallard floating just offshore. The head of every duck is jammed into the water so I figure they are on top of a big ball of feed. Aki scampers close the tree line and takes the first trail offered that leads away into the old growth. Is she cold or wanting to escape a place where her sensitive nose can still catch the scent of death?

I didn’t expect much from this walk on the Auk Beach except a clean trail surface. During the drive through Juneau on rainy streets under flat gray skies, I mentally rejected other trails because the little dog was sure to muddy up her just-bathed body on them. The clouds break as I park the car at the trailhead. Rain still falls but we are squinting into bright sunlight. It backlights the small raft of harlequin ducks that we see here on every visit.

Down the beach a single Pacific loon hunts bait fish. I expect a rainbow at this “devil beating his wife” moment of rain and sun but none appears. Instead a cloud of eagles forms over bait balls just off shore. The big birds drive off the immature birds and then dive with talons extended toward the water. Aki, who once evaded a diving eagle on this same beach, ignores the big birds. I am not worried. The eagles are too intent on fish to even notice a little poodle-mix nosing something washed up by last night’s tide.

Aki and I break out of the old growth, after maneuvering the latest wind-fallen hemlock, and spot a line of sunlit gulls that shine like a string of white lights strung over dark water. Other shafts of light enrich the color of the spruce and hemlock on Shaman Island. Another makes the new snow on an Admiralty Island mountain sparkle.

To appreciate the emotional impact of one of these rain-forest winter breakouts, imagine the sudden appearance of something joyful, say a child’s smile, during your workday. You are content with the gray nine to five life, appreciate the warmth generated by co-worker relationships and positive evaluations, until the child laughs, then flashes that smile. That how today’s sudden appearance of sun light and blue skies hits me today.

The forecast is for more rain, clouds, and fog—a return to winter’s more subtle beauty. We will be able to appreciate the subtleties, thanks to this unexpected release of light.