Walking down to the office one morning, not long ago I felt a bit of spring in the air. Everywhere the plants were taking heart and showing signs of emerging from the long dormant period of winter and birds were happily voicing their welcome as they hurried about over their old familiar haunts.

Everywhere signs of the new season were apparent. The quickly melting snow had given way to the most refreshing green of the mosses and ferns beneath and all the world seemed busy in the pleasant task of arranging for its summer wardrobe. A short trip to the Nisqually River where I could observe it as it flowed swiftly on through the forest, in and out among the rocks and high canyon walls to the broad surface of the plain again, gave me a peaceful feeling of all being right with the world.

Somehow, in the rush of busy days, we seem to pass these little things without a second glance. They are so apparent and so much a part of the entire scene that we fail to see them.

Returning to the office a few moments later several cars of early spring visitors were arranging for their entrance permits. A gala crowd they were, impatient with the brief delay, in their anxiety to rush on to points beyond "to see something interesting". Soon the necessary details were accomplished and our friends had rushed out of sight around the bend of the road. It was then that I chanced to look up on the hillside just opposite the office. There I saw seven deer - each animal perched upon a separate rock or crag. The picture that the presented was more beautiful than any famous canvas in an art gallery; more real than any piece of statuary. It was a living, breathing, tableau of the forest enacted in a natural setting.

What a sight those animals made! And in its enjoyment I wondered about the people who had just left so hurriedly; wondered if as yet they had been able to "see something interesting".

Ranger Carl Tice
Nisqually Entrance.