…and I followed his flight, as overhead he spiraled ever upward in arcs tight. But then he came low and headed toward The River, and I lost sight as he disappeared into the cloud-bank, so I followed in his wake into the woods. Would I see him again? I’d try.

 
Into the lush, green woods, each leaf and trunk softened in the humid, cool air. The breeze whispered in the canopy, droplets of water hissed down through the leaves to patter on the ground. Then the sun emerged once more in a rent in the clouds.

 

 
High humidity, hot days, and warm nights say it’s still summer, but deep in the woods a splash of color hints that summer’s lease is not far from ending. Under the dark arches—and above as well—maple leaves have turned red and orange.

 

 
The River called, its muffled roar forever telling the story of its passage. But before leaving the woods, I felt as if I was being watched. And then I saw the eye:

 

 
A natural eye, formed by the wrinkling of a maple tree’s bark at my eye-height on its trunk. The trunk and I exchanged silent greetings and then I went on my way, down the flank of the ridge and to the river. Another shower passed through, making the riverbank rocks slick but bringing out their colors and textures.

 

 
Pools and puddles were like glass:

 

 
And a lone waterlogged red maple leaf brightened the edge of this puddle while reflecting the mother tree overhanging the bank:

 

 
The chorus from the over-yonder rapids masked birdsongs now that I was close to The River, but I saw troupes of chickadees in the trees, flitting from branch to branch in search of insects and seeds.

 

 
The sun peeked out again, highlighting a very still, very quiet frog overlooking his world from a rocky prospect on the other side of the pool:

 

 
I scrambled over the rocks and carefully avoided slipping, but then the rain began once more and the sloping outcrops were too risky to negotiate in my hiking boots, so I headed back to the trail. Volunteer sunflowers sought the sun:

 

 
And chokecherries are ripening, almost ready for harvesting by cedar waxwings and other birds:

 

 
And the trailsides are lush with the orange touch-me-nots (aka jewelweed):

 

 
Day lilies show off in front of Joe-Pye weed growing on a steep bank overlooking the water:

 

 
And a bright yellow bloom I can’t identify grew nearby, perhaps an escapee from someone’s garden:

 

 
The flowers along the trail held my attention for so long that I suddenly realized the clouds were parting and sailing away.

 

 
I tucked my DSLR away inside my pack, sure that I’d taken all the photos I’d want that day. Still, you never know, so I kept my small point-and-shoot camera slung over my neck. And that’s when I saw him again far overhead.

 

 
Spiraling beyond the range of the small camera’s optical zoom, the bald eagle’s bright head glinted in the low sun as he banked to watch me far below. And then he effortlessly glided from sight once more, but I know I’ll see him again someday.

 
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