Rubber Sole

I think Roger and I have become like a broken record. We take the same walks down to Chimacum Creek to Port Townsend Bay, or we walk the Larry Scott Memorial Trail along the bay's edge. Still, we are always enthralled by the familiar views. We are recording the sunrise and sunset of our days, and all the things that fall and fill in between.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it! We bought new boots! Thick rubber soles on leather Converse hiking boots for him, and rubber soles on new Keen Dakota boots for me. Warm. Toasty. Filled with things constructed in China. Our happy feet walk the trails in a newfound freedom.

We walked down to the creek in our new boots to see the snow melt, and to check if the ice was gone. I confidently stepped down a few yards off the trail to see this snow-covered log. And while I was down there I saw this on the shady side of the creek:She spread and fanned her wings for a long time, and I was far enough away so that from a distance she looked for all the world like a cormorant drying her wings.

We walked on. The low angle of the early afternoon sun didn't top the trees, but broke through every now and then and lit up the water. The eagle flew on. The ducks took off in unison-- their wings beating together and their flapping leap out of the water sounding like a song. When we got down the to the bay, we heard a loon. A loon. As pretty a sound to come off the water that you'd ever long to hear again. The Cornell bird website describes it as a tremulous wail. Yes. It's a sound that pulls every cell in your body to its origins and reminds you of things you never realized that you already knew.

When the sun was setting the other afternoon (I just can't call 4:20 pm night), we watched a small flock of geese race across the sky. It's an image that always makes me want to cry. I love their purposefulness and grace. Ten thousand years ago no one stared at a computer screen; but this, a flock like this, I know they saw. We live on that same earth.

So yes, here's our broken record. It's a beautiful planet. Protect it. Lay your body down and protect it, so ten thousand years from now someone will see a flock of geese or hear a loon and think, with a tremulous wail, of us.