Taking a turn at the look out.
It’s been trying and we haven’t been locked up like some.
We hiked the east side of Columbia Lake. Where the mighty river starts. I’ve never seen where the Columbia turns huge before it spills into the Pacific. Where Salmon run before being turned back by hydro-electric dams. I prefer it up here in the hills.
Pictograph from another time.
The frost is below six inches of soil. Another week and the ground can be worked. I’ve started a few seeds inside. I worry for them as I am a lazy gardener, preferring plants outside.
Getting ready for war.
Most people I know have lost their jobs. Some small businesses may never reopen. It’s always close to the vest even in the best of times.
If only we could read.
We scrambled up into the rocks to an ancient cave where we couldn’t discern the writing. Where battles were recorded. Where people watched loved ones stolen or killed. Where Eagles swooped above goats, knocking newborn kids off ledges to jagged rocks below.
If we had a choice to come back.
The rhubarb is showing. It will be welcome.