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I’m standing at the foot of a sturdy, wooden footbridge that crosses a swift creek. Today it’s surprisingly sunny, the day after many drizzly days. The winter rainforest I’m in is wet and sparkly. It’s cold but not freezing and the air has a clean bite from the Doug Fir. There are leafless, deciduous “moss” trees on both sides of the bridge, some sprouting from the creek bank on my left where I’m standing and a few up ahead on the right bank all the way across the creek. Their trunks and branches are furry with dramatic moss carpets, lush, neon, dripping. #Kin moss loves the big leaf maples #kin is growing on. The bridge stretches out before me, and it’s red, from the crushed autumn leaves off the maples and the wood, too, is a shade of red. I’m just not sure if it’s redwood. I hear more than see the creek but it’s barely viewable from my peripheral vision on both sides as I look all the way across the bridge. I see a guardian Doug fir trunk just past the maples, up on the left and a good trail disappearing in the evergreen forest ahead.