I am cheating Aki, at least that’s what she thinks. We have to squeeze in a quick walk this morning because I have a workshop for the rest of the day. To keep her somewhat clean, I take her on the Twin Lakes paved walking path. Normally, this would send the little dog over the moon with joy because it is a top dog walk path on the weekends. But today, it rains. The wind sweeps the path clean of everyone but my stubborn self and the little, low to the ground dog.

Twin Lakes were formed by the construction of Juneau’s only four lane highway. It cut off two bays from Gastineau Channel. On the map, the highway forms the straight line of a poorly drawn capital letter, “B.” The path outlines the twin swellings to the right of the upright. The lake waters magnify truck rumblings from the highway and no forest blocks the rain or the sight of highway traffic. It has little to offer but light and a view of the Douglas Island mountains rising above Gastineau Channel and the highway. But these, Aki and I have to ourselves.

I shouldn’t be frustrated. Last night’s rain showers ended at first light and I can see the ridges on both sides of the Gold Creek Valley. Aki has traded sniffs with some dog friends and hasn’t growled at anyone except for an innocent looking longhaired dachshund that eyed her in fear. The sun is the trouble. To be more accurate, it’s the broken clouds that parse out the sun’s enriching rays. They roll back enough to release a shaft of light onto a patch of alders, all covered with dead leaves but not the solitary cottonwood tree that, in full sun, would be a yellow candle against its mountainside of green spruce. When sunlight does reach the cottonwood, I am busy bagging Aki’s scat. Poop in bag, I raise the camera and find the sun gone. I move up the trail. Sun shafts, like lightening, can’t strike the same tree. Whipping around, I see the cottonwood’s again jewel yellow leaves dull as the sun moves back to the alders.

It doesn’t get any better until we reached the overlook where we meet a stay-at -home dad shoehorning in some alone time before his child gets out of school. He gives me a little lecture on cloud formation (helpful) as out of the corner of my eye I spot the a shaft of sun turning a cloud of brown-yellow willow leaves gold. I ignore the show and listen. We part without enriching either’s day and I head back to Chicken Ridge. Multiple shafts of light escape the clouds and light up the view I had at the overlook. If I had done the right thing and sat with the man, had conversation, we both could have enjoyed sun light up the deep gorge and its still green covered walls, might have become friends. The teacher managing the clouds gives me two consolation prizes—a slash of light across the creek valley and an illuminated waterfall.

I was looking for fall color in fog, not bears, when I let Aki show me the way into the Gold Creek Valley. The cottonwoods provided a little drama, but not enough to encourage a climb further up the valley so we cross the creek and headed west on the Flume Trail. I followed the little dog down a steep trail to Gold Creek and stopped just below a muddy section to wondered whether the bear, whose paw slipped and left five parallel grooves on the dun colored mud felt pleasure or fear. If it was the young black bear we saw on 7^th street last Tuesday night, she must have enjoyed the trill. Still wet from crossing Gold Creek, she moved with surprising grace, the kind some rhythmic overweight people reveal when they dance. The bear bounced step by step down the street, stopped at each trash can to make sure they didn’t contain something tasty, then disappeared into a neighbor’s open garage. Such sweetness; such dangerous behavior. Already addicted to garbage and comfortable around people, the little bruin is not long for this world.