The weekend was wet, rain turning the snow to icy slush difficult to tread - except on the good old beach. We wandered that way.
About a mile north of our house, we came across an immature bald eagle feasting on a carcass. Flossy had to be warned off. These creatures are as big as she is.
We couldn't tell exactly what dead thing he was making his meal of, but there was competition from several other birds.
He didn't budge for them or for the likes of us.
On the way back home, we walked out onto the spit where the Sailor found this nice oyster, remnant of the experimental oyster farm located here briefly in the mid-'90's. Oysters can't reproduce in these waters - too cold. We put this fellow back on the flats in peace.
William Wallace was waiting for us when we got back, ready to come in from the damp cold and curl up by the new wood stove.
Peace and warmth to you.