I had not been there since the beginning of winter and was eager to reconnect with all my favorite sites. I was not prepared for what I saw. The trail was gone, my landmarks were missing. The winter floods had enlarged the creek to river dimensions and in places coursed completely across the canyon. The walls were pulled down and washed to sea, or swept into broad scars of raw sandstone and granite.
Broken trees lay strewn atop the rubble.
I revered those rocky creek hideaways roofed with redwood and willow and decked with grasses and flowers. I loved to sit in them with the thrashers, sparrows, wrens, wind and creek sounds. My confusion soon mixed with anger and sorrow. The stream deals with them. The laurels are wounded, Redwoods go down with their earth and lie thwart the gorge.