In The Winter Garden

The cold has reached below zero, and the garden is empty as can be. Half-finished tasks wait to be completed. A pheasant, red ring, flies by unexpectedly and startles me. Small birds flutter from bush to bush, looking for any remaining seeds.

The Monument Without a Purpose

Looking out over the Pacific, the monument has nothing to say. People get off the road, park and walk by to see the ocean, but ignore the obvious.

The Dead Tree Tells Its Story

Cold has frozen the creek and floods from the beaver dams, along with the snow, have flattened the grass. Things usually hidden in the undergrowth are seen in the winter, and they tell winter tales. Most of the fallen trees still have large amounts of soil attached to their roots, but this one has little left other than the skeleton. Even in death it seems to have suffered.

Flooding in the Delta

The rain stopped early today and we went down to a woodlands along the Pacific coast. There the high tide and strong winds blowing inland Brough a flood inland. Pathways throughout the woodlands were flooded, some were like little streams. What all the salt water will do to the cottonwoods I’m not sure.

The Lines Over the Cranberries.

This morning, early, I drove up and then down the Fraser River, looking for some magic in the fog. None was found on the river, which cleared sooner than the countryside running along it. Finally, when nearly back in town I saw these wires stretching across the cranberry fields. They were strikingly lonely looking.