The ancient maple trees in the estuary, their trunks gnarled, their branches bared of bark and festooned with streamers of grey-green lichen, rise in silhouette against the pale background of the mist. Eagles perch among their branches, as many as five or six in a single tree, hoping to pluck breakfast from the streams that feed into the marsh or from the sodden fields around them.
If you sit at the shore and look for a while, you can discern herons - almost the same colour as fog and sea - standing silent in the shallows. So still are they that they almost disappear into the monochrome landscape around them.
Gulls announce their presence loudly long before you see their grey and white feathers emerge from the mist.
Up the hill from the bay, fir trees edging farm fields fade in seried ranks, from charcoal to ghostly pale, while tattered streamers of fog wind their way through the groves.
The strait outside my window disappears and reappears at the whim of clouds and breeze. Just now, the water's surface gleams platinum and I can just see the shore of Saltspring Island, titanium grey behind it.
And yet, and yet, in the middle of all this grey, something magical is happening. Look what I found in the garden today!
Spring is hiding just beyond the fog. She's testing the waters with her toes, and unfurling the first promises of colour in gardens and hedgerows. She's coming. Even today, she's on her way.
Hold the hope of springtime in your heart and carry a little sunshine in your smile. Have a joyful day.
