Aki enjoyed our passage through the woods. She ran ahead, draw by smells and signs. I moved slower, tried not to trip on spruce roots exposed by rain. She turns into a symbol of caution when we reach the beach, walking just behind me as I work through the wet grass still bent down by last night’s flood tide. Maybe she is worried about the eagles.
An immature bald eagle from a beachside spruce, arcs over the Mendenhall River, and flies down the beach. More follow, including one with a missing flight feather. Another, in the white and brown coloring of a mature eagle, remains to sulk. At least that’s what I think because it lets its head droop like a person might who had hoped for sun and received rain.