14 June 2009, Waterville Valley, N.H.

In a clearing of an otherwise heavily-forested area, three wild turkeys. They are large, dark, cumbersomely awkward fowl, no grace about these birds, but it is pleasing to see them, complacent in their environment, heedless of passing traffic, nearby. This is the third time in several days we've seen small flocks of turkeys, in various parts of the Waterville Valley. Nice to know they're around in respectable numbers. All such sightings are pleasing; in all our years travelling and hiking in the area we've rarely seen much in the way of wildlife. Last year's sighting of a young black bear was a first in over thirty years of sporadic weeks' hiking in the area.

It's also nice to see the small grey donkeys in their enclosure; domesticated animals have their place in our bestiary of appreciative appearances. They are stationed on a small plot of cleared land beside their owners' rustic home. Not quite the same as encountering the presence of animals in the wild, existing on their own inherited capabilities in their natural environment, but appreciated, nonetheless.

Viewing them satisfies a primitive need, an assurance we're scarcely aware of. It's exciting to see airborne vultures, hawks, great blue herons, coasting the prevailing winds. The vultures are not so attractive up close, on a highway, pecking at road-kill carcasses, to be sure. But they have their place in nature's scheme, the ultimate recycling scheme. Even chipmunks, scurrying about their business gathering nuts and seeds, and red squirrels, in these woods, scolding our presence on their territory, gives us great pleasure.

This has been a week destined to deliver us one day after another of extraordinary weather events. In sheer rain volume alone, extraordinary. But the weather can turn on a dime - or in any event, on nature's whim and consent - and a day heavy with rain following hard on a night of wildly pounding rain and brutal winds, can often eventuate into an afternoon confused with the sudden appearance of blue gaps in the banks of clouds. Then, the damp, cool atmosphere speedily morphs into a warm, muggy one, heated by the resolutely emerging sun.

And so it was that we were enabled to pull over, haul hiking boots and raingear out of the car trunk and set off for a too-brief foray into a forested mountain trail. The ground steaming where errant sun rays penetrated the canopy to focus on drenched detritus. Black flies eager to dine out on our tender flesh. We are drawn off the trail to approach closer to the mountain stream, its distant chatter transformed to a thunderous roar as the creek hurtled itself foaming and thrashing over boulders stream throughout its downward path.

Lush mosses luxuriate in this perfect atmosphere coddling their needs. the mosses often resembling infinitesimally tiny forests, sending up minuscule blooms. Lilies of the valley are profligate in their belled splendour in their miniature world on the forest floor. Ferns plume the understory. Dogwoods reach beyond the floor to ineffectually emulate the hemlock and spruce. The curling exfoliation of giant yellow birches host silver lichen. The night's wind and rain have brought down stubborn, long-dead tree limbs, now littering the underbrush, the trail; shelf-fungi dislodged, bereft of their host, deprived of purpose.

A thrush sings sweetly within the near depths of the dripping forest. Generations of forest compost miraculously absorbed these moisture-laden days of unrelenting rain, making the trails soft and moist, not mushy, underfoot. Our olfactory senses are overtaken by the sublime fragrance of some forest emanation. Smells like luscious ripe berries, like some goddess of nature's kitchen rendering strawberries, raspberries, blackberries into a splendid, jammy spread.

Our little dogs, happy and excited to finally be released from the confines of the car, rush about sniffing, snuffling, pawing, nibbling fresh strands of grass. Has it begun raining again, we wonder, or is that just the wind shaking the rain-excess from the trees overhead?