The bright powdery snow has coated the landscape with a magic that only appears in story books. The trees glisten with silver and the water bubbles and sparkles. The snow on the road crunches under foot. The fog starts to lift and the sun brilliantly peaks through illuminating the branches and brush. The trees standing tall, proud yet bare offer the perfect spot for a bald eagle to perch. They dot the tree line, sometime two, three or even ten in cluster on a tree. They come here to feed. Each year around the same time feeding on the spawning salmon. They call to each other with screeches only an Eagle can make, terrifying to a small animal yet very distinct. Wandering down river, they sit on branches preening their feathers and warming their backs in the sun before soaring above, looking for another meal or a branch to perch on. Their talons gripping the branch tight as they would a fish. Their beaks sharp and their eyes are piercing. The hunter within always ready, the power emanating from their eyes as they stare towards you. There is no fear shown and they fly not out fear but to show their mastery of the sky and display their skill for all to see.