Silver mist glides over the bay, stretching from the fog covered bank of the blue tinted water sliding by my feet.  Silent tree shadows rise to define the other bank of this cold gurgling water.  Leaves have fallen, leaving empty branches to grasp at empty air.  Splashes of red leaves among the gray boulders provide the only bit of color in this cool gray world, except for the blue and orange rust color of the two small boats resting on the river's bank.  Tied to the ground and safe from the pulling grasp of the flowing water, more than ready to take them with it as it flows to the sea.  

         Even the bird sounds are muffled on this early morning, waiting for the cast of sunshine to burn off the fog, bringing warmth back to the earth and clarity to the sky.  This is not a time to put upon the water, to expend the effort of dragging the boat to the ever pulling grasp of the river, to paddle up river or down in search