Sometimes I spy something special during my long commute to work. A morning fog was veiling the West Branch of the Columbia River so, after crossing the bridge, I swung my car into a pull-off. As I headed on foot back to the bridge to try and capture the image I’d seen in my mind’s eye, I noticed something else. Just off the path was the remnant of a fallen tree, well on its way to returning to the soil that once nourished it. The deep colors of the rotting wood were marvelous and, as it turned out, my river pictures were not.
Old Fallen One