Rooftops shaped like cones covered in moss sticking up high in overshadowing sky. An iron bird spinning in the fierce wind. Salt air off the harbor, fresh, fishy, musty, clean and like old wood. Rain, rain, rain. Darkness and rain in May. The sun catches a few breaks. Then whooshhhhh the rivery sound of the forest taken by wind. Limbs bending twitching shaking twirling breaking. Leaves moving the same way but hanging on by strength of Spring. Charcoal, white and smears of blue palette the sky constantly passing and transforming. On the Mountain of the Sequoias, over the Valley of the Deadwoods.