Easy
The river is high. Moss covers the bare maples, upon the bark of which sprouts the new growth of ferns. Near the ferry crossing, perched high in the bright sun atop a dead cottonwood, are two bald eagles. Beside us, a towhee spins a few notes, as if trying to catch our attention, while a crested blue jay calls out, No! Look over here! Everything is right. Perfect. Such is […]
William Michaelian 