Coastal Island Rain…

Coastal Island rain has a way of slowing everything down. It does not fall with urgency; it arrives with intention. A steady, patient rhythm that settles into the land rather than striking it. This is rain that knows where it belongs. Rain that has been here for thousands of years, shaping stone, feeding roots, and carrying stories from ridge to sea.

I go for a walk.

This walk is not an escape from the world—it is a return to it.

Beyond the forest, roads hum, schedules tighten, and decisions are rushed. But here, the forest operates on a different scale. Time stretches. Priorities shift. What matters becomes simple: water, light, connection, balance.

I follow the stream until it bends out of sight, disappearing into a tangle of roots and ferns. I do not need to follow further. The lesson is already present. These waters will continue on, joining rivers, feeding estuaries, sustaining salmon, nourishing oceans. What begins here does not stay here. Everything is connected.

Rain continues to fall.

I turn back slowly, leaving no mark that will last. The forest does not notice my departure, and that is the point. This place does not exist for us—it exists despite us. Its resilience is profound, but not infinite. These whispers from the wild are gentle reminders, not warnings shouted too late.

Into The Rain Forest…

Cedar Tree…