Two pileated woodpeckers chip away on a dead fir. Where I stand
it is raining bits and pieces of the old tree as long sharp beaks
hammer with precise repetition in the solitude of the forest.
These two with their red-crested heads continue the hard knocks and
go on to climb higher, the noise of beaks and feet and falling
wood chips still heard in the distance as I go on towards Gazzam Lake.
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