Shades of Gray

The river ice is gray and melting. A duck walks on water where the river widens and deepens, but it only seems so, as the ice beneath its feet is covered with an inch of meltwater.

A cardinal sings from the top of a red maple; the bird's redness concealed by the fog among the trees. The air is damp and still. A flock of slate-colored juncos flits among the bushes along the river's edge. I note their whereabouts by the flash of white tail feathers and their rapid, chip notes.

Underfoot the snow has turned to a gray slush, while the sky above is a dull, dirty white as far as the eye can see. I hear the rapid wingbeats of a male mallard flying overhead, its bright green head muted against the grayness all around. From somewhere above I hear a lone gull call, like a fog horn in the sky.

Amid the slush and fog, Kodi flashes his white teeth. He zigs and zags in the soft snow, racing in circles just for the pure joy. He urges other dogs to join in, while he lifts my spirits above the fog.