This morning there were crows and a man screaming loud as anyone could scream. I imagined being in the house next to him. He was somewhere out there in the early hours.

The day before, we saw a bald eagle being chased across the harbour. It seemed calm enough. The birds behind it were trying to take something from its mouth.

And before that I overheard the middle of an argument between a British couple, standing near the water, with sun on their faces and food in their hands. No one was raising their voice but the man was saying, 'You never listen, you never think'.

At the top of the mountain, we never made it. The snow was slush. I was surprised by how accurate the trail reviews had been. We actually needed spikes for the ice. But one joy of climbing is to look across alpine space at other, insurmountable spaces; peaks blue and delicate as fish bone, reminding you of the world's weight.

I send a photo of a charcuterie board to a friend. The board has a cartoon bear carved into it, a species of bear that doesn't really exist around here any more.

You can see straight through the rivers. If you place your hand in the water you lose it, like a thief.

My friend has a new tattoo, on their arm, their first. She is keeping it covered. It is red and sore.

A river under a mountain under something else. You can picture stars, or anything.

Last time I was here, I didn't remember this.