The gray is beginning to affect even me.
Everywhere I look the landscape is painted in neutral colors.
And, although I find it relaxing to sit and look out over this colorless water backed by a white winter sky, I would rather be engaged with it, wading the shallows or peeking under rocks.
The silvery ice is almost gone.
Two birds fly past. Gulls. White and gray.
Above us on the bank, cedar trees in drab olive tones drop needles onto the rocks at the shoreline where we sit, bundled up, having lunch, wiggling toes to stay warm.
The intricate details of the fossils lining the shore are absorbing. And the afternoon light slants low upon them through the bare trees from across the cove.
All these little creatures...450 million years ago, now washing free from the gray shale.
I remember what it felt like to watch my children sleeping--a peaceful rest, while I waited for them to wake. How I looked forward to what we would be able to do together.
And how our lives paused until each nap was done.
Winter is about darkness and rest.
As those who long to engage with the earth, wait for her to wake.
And one of the largest complete trilobites,
now in the Smithsonian.