Mist

I woke up to a misty morning.

Thunder storms are in the forecast.

It is so still, you can hear a leaf drop.

The birds have stopped their territorial singing.

They are done raising young.

I see the new fledglings

still begging for food.

Following their overworked parents through the trees.

But these are the last of the nestlings.

It's time to fatten up for winter.

Our foothill ecosystem is home to many migrating birds that summer here to raise their young.

Dew drops provide water, they dine on forest berries. Huckleberry, Thimble berry, Salmon berry, Blackberry, Raspberry, Indian Plum, Cherries, wild strawberries. Holly berry, Rowen. Too many to name.
Hazelnuts and cones of all types. Catkins and seeds and roots and mushrooms.

 Every kind of insect you can imagine. I will have to tell you my insect tales some time. I have ceased to be squeamish. But they lure Woodpeckers and Thrashers, Shrikes and nuthatches that climb up and down trees headfirst and will land in your hand if you hold out a treat.

These summer thunderstorms come suddenly and dramatically here in the many small valleys and steep, evergreen hills, washing away this year's fallen needles, and tumbling down gullies and deep roadside ditches, swelling the creeks and rivers.

We always stand out on the deck after a storm and listen to the sound of the creek down below, new voices added to it's song.

 Lightning can be within reach and frequently, during the early evening we are provided a view of the mountain storms, playing out like some mystical war of the Gods, Mt. Rainier silhouetted against the sharp spears of jagged light.

Mist has a life of it's own and I watch it glide over the hills until it finds a place to settle, where it will then rise in columns, warmed by the Earth, and gradually float away to start the cycle all over again.

But soon the summer sun wins the match, and the mist must float away, taking away my melancholy mood for a time.

Warming my frame of mind and giving me renewed hope that sunshine will still be waiting there behind whatever clouds roll our way.

No matter how strong the storms around us.

Or how blinding the mist.

Until I can put on my Rose Colored Glasses once more.