I live and write on Lingít Aaní, and gratefully acknowledge the past, present and future caretakers of this beautiful place, the Jilkaat Kwaan and Jilkoot Kwaan.

To live’s to fly, both low and high. So shake the dust off of your wings and the sleep out of your eyes- Townes Van Zandt

7:45 am (thanks to turning back the clock an hour the sun was up, such as it is) North wind, gray skies, snowing on the mountains, feels like rain, or maybe snow.

My sister called. She was walking in Manhatten and watching the end of the New York City Marathon and wanted to tell me about it. Our dad ran it, and she says the girls (that’s my daughters and her nieces) should do it, too. The wind on the beach was cold on my bare hand and noisy so I ducked into the sheltered trail.

They say winter will be hard when the squirrels are busy, and if this mound of cached spruce cones is any indication, I’m glad Chip has filled all three sheds with firewood. This is what I love about November: fires in the stove and the anticipation of snow. Turning back the clocks means it is time to string up some twinkle lights.

Remember that dead salmon from yesterday? I’m not sure if it is the same one, but I think it may be. Here it is today– the magpies, crows, a raven and gulls were on it before an eagle grabbed it and flapped off with it swinging from her talons. There’s a reason November is the month of remembrance, and I think it has to do with the reminders everywhere you look of the cycles of life.

I have made it five days into my writing discipline, so that’s something, and you are helping because I made a deal with you to post a photo of my morning walk every day in November. It helps me if I am accountable, and it is  even better  to be out in the world looking at it more closely with eyes to the beauty everywhere, especially at times or of scenes or images that normally wouldn’t make me say “I have to take a picture. It looks like a post card.”

Angels require attention too, to notice them. So does God. You have be actively expecting the divine or you may miss it.  Who put that Townes Van Zandt song in my head this morning? And how did she, he or they know it is perfect? Shake the dust off of your wings and the sleep out of those eyes. What a morning! What a day. What a brief and wonderful life this is.