Fall in the Air

I just came in from the pre-bedtime Chico walk and you feel that nip in the air . . . the salmonberries are gone by and there is only another week or two of good blueberry picking . . . the pink salmon have spawned out and died so that dog walk along the river smells like every salmon stream does this time of year - not nasty especially, just that earthy, loamy smell. The silver salmon are entering the streams now - much smaller number than the pinks but more flash and splash. The eagles are mostly somewhere else this time of year, off on eagle business, no doubt exploiting a phase of the island ecosystem I haven't seen yet. When my sister was visiting the herring were running so it was a time of whales and porpoises and seals aplenty, fattening up. Every time of year has its moods and smells and sounds, a book waiting to be read everytime you walk out the door. I love all the seasons out here - summers with all the impossibly lush greenery and winters with all the violence the Bering Sea can bring to bear on a treeless rock. Life is good . . . .