One of my favorite things in the world is woodland walking. I feel fortunate to live near a large park, where my bear cub and I can spend hours wandering down narrow dirt trails between rows of Douglas Firs. Sometimes we will feel entirely isolated, like I often do in the true wilderness of the Cascades or the Rocky Mountains, and other times there is human evidence in the form of altered nature or detritus: a few dandelions tied together, a footprint, a bottle cap. Yesterday we found a beautiful small bouquet laying in the grass; there was a wedding two days prior in that very spot, but it looked too fresh to have rested there since then. I picked it up and placed it in my companion's collar, and when I got home, redistributed it across three bud vases that I made on the potter's wheel one afternoon in April.