It all goes well with little to note other than the replacement of ospreys and willets with herring gulls and yellow-legs. At the first bridge, the picket fence of a deer's ribcage appears in the salt hay along with a bleached scapula and a still furred leg - hit by a car, hit by a train, or hit by a disease...to early to have been hit by a hunter. No telling where it came from, the back and forth washing of the tide ruins the logic. It's here, for the time being.
A few kingfishers, a great blue heron, some fish jumping, a few turtle heads, one great egret, the wind blows cool, the clouds come over.
I stop at the broken stone dam that hides behind the cattails up against the forest.
And then, I return....washed... not clean, but washed.