Even though this reserve on Westham Island was about birds, I couldn’t help be in wonder at the vegetation.
I plodded the muddy walkways through the marshes where at times, the rustle of dead grass was the loudest sound. In the summer the bulrushes were thick and lush. In November, they were yellow and brittle, though still cover for the many water birds.
I peered across the Salish Sea to the Gulf Islands and beyond, Vancouver Island with only the sound of a chickadee while it flittered through nearby skeletal shrub.
From here to there 
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