There are always gravel bars down by the river this time of year. The river runs high in the spring but with the passage of summer, the waters ebb and languish into micro-currents that can no longer bear their burden of fine silt. It settles upon the cobbles that line the shallows to form intricate patterns. The ever-present raven has found its way into another picture.
Every spring the river breaks and its swift waters cut the banks, felling trees along the way. Driftwood like this can be found on many of the gravel bars. Villagers gather up the best to fuel their stoves during the long winter, but some logs remain on the shoreline. Perhaps they are too rotted to make good firewood.