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 of the elusive fish. It is more the time to sit upon the damp rock and let the moment seep into my soul, bringing with it a sense and time of quiet, so needed to contemplate the life around me. To give me time to make sense of the daily events that whirl around, bending my concentration too many times to focus on empty concerns. To allow me to assign importance and value to these moments. To calm the cacophony of life's demands around me with a blanket of silent silver fog.
How far down river could I go with my boat? Silently gliding with the fog, paddles in my lap. How long before I must turn back and struggle to slowly make my way again here, to where I've started? How many times before I finally stop the struggle and just continue on as I float to the sea? Will I float from the calm quiet of the silver river fog only to be met with the waves of the sea that roar as they crash upon the rocks, ready to take my boat and me into it's mighty grasp? Back into the whirl of life demanding I dance only to its tune?
Bird songs brighten as the sun slowly melts the cold silver fog before me. Light begins to dance across the water, warming the air as the fog retreats. It is time, and I rise from my contemplation, leaving the boat for another day. Another sea claims my attention, drawing me back to its mighty grasp as I walk the path back from the river bank.
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 of the elusive fish. It is more the time to sit upon the damp rock and let the moment seep into my soul, bringing with it a sense and time of quiet, so needed to contemplate the life around me. To give me time to make sense of the daily events that whirl around, bending my concentration too many times to focus on empty concerns. To allow me to assign importance and value to these moments. To calm the cacophony of life's demands around me with a blanket of silent silver fog.
How far down river could I go with my boat? Silently gliding with the fog, paddles in my lap. How long before I must turn back and struggle to slowly make my way again here, to where I've started? How many times before I finally stop the struggle and just continue on as I float to the sea? Will I float from the calm quiet of the silver river fog only to be met with the waves of the sea that roar as they crash upon the rocks, ready to take my boat and me into it's mighty grasp? Back into the whirl of life demanding I dance only to its tune?
Bird songs brighten as the sun slowly melts the cold silver fog before me. Light begins to dance across the water, warming the air as the fog retreats. It is time, and I rise from my contemplation, leaving the boat for another day. Another sea claims my attention, drawing me back to its mighty grasp as I walk the path back from the river bank.
