We walked through the narrow space between the livestock gate and the post and a downed log, a meter thick. There were wooly bear caterpillars and dragonflies and damselflies and red-winged black birds and ladybugs and hummingbirds.
We waded through the tall grass along the old logging road to a place where grass was pressed flat. Deer? Elk? The road, ungraded, deep rutted, and slippery, was muddy.
We passed a bald spot where nothing grew. I wanted to find the wound and heal it.
At the bottom of that narrow field, we went left and there in front of us was a meadow, filled with white flowers, edged by a forest.