Rainy. Misty. Mysterious. These words describe our visit to Goldstream Park yesterday to see the salmon returning upriver to lay their eggs and then die. Droplets of rain falling on the thick leaf carpet beat a soft counterpoint to the rushing water swirling around rocks and splash of fish leaping upstream.
Here, a leaf, barely submerged glows yellow on a very gray day. In autumn, death is so prevalent in nature, yet life begins, too, in the salmon eggs laid in sandy gravel and the decay of yellowed leaves.
I could get very philosophical standing there in the woods, thinking about all of this. The seagulls pull me out of my musings. They are there to gorge themselves on the dying salmon, their plaintive screech filling the air as they watch which fish to feed on next.
I know that Robert Frost wrote his poem about a winter's eve, but yesterday, the line that came to me was "The woods are lovely, dark and deep," for that they were. Full of quiet in spite of the cars rushing by on the highway. Full of the awe that is life and death. Deep with peace.
I am not linking to Mosaic Monday, usually hosted by Mary at the Little Red House, because she lives in New Jersey, an area devastated by Hurricane Sandy. Mary is without power and trying to get a generator started to provide heat and power. Continue to pray for those affected by the storm.