Though the first rays of the spirited June sun struck the mountain swiftly along its east-facing slopes to set them aglow, what followed in the so-sparked embers was hardly the fires of yesterday’s heat. Small bands of fog pouring in from the Pacific put a damper on the temperatures. In the wave of fog-drive wind, trees and bushes are now singing hymns.
And through the changing reflections of the light, the shifts of fog and the sway of vegetation, only the ornery calls of crows have been the same today as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that…. And so it goes.