I returned to the Salmon River seeking the magic delivered in July’s visit. Would it be there or would it be gone.?
The birdsong had nearly ceased. What was a cacophony of wren, warblers, king fishers, dippers, chickadees, robins and jays is now just an occasional whisper. Breeding and nesting season is over and along with it the need for emphatic territorial displays. July’s wildflowers are now seed heads; petals wilted. The salmonberries: gone.
Yet, the light that gilds the river in the morning remains. The sun still reflects off of the steep east-facing slope and warms the river’s water. New flowers have appeared: umbels. Red huckleberries and Oregon grape berries are ripe. And the ferns are always there holding fast in the golden morning, at least through the first hard frost which won’t be until many days forward.