Woke this morning to a steady rain. Checked the forecast and saw more of the same until at least mid-afternoon. So I pulled on some layers, set my umbrella near the front door, helped Dash don his bright orange rain slicker, and headed out into the gray.
Puddles on the wet asphalt of the Huckleberry Trail reflected the bright silver sky… in fact, the whole landscape felt a bit as if it had been plated with silver.
The rain started late the night before and continued past dawn, so our local creek was full of rushing water, and the small, rocky tributaries were splashing, too.
It’s so much easier to see subtle variations of color in tree bark and the dried leaves and stems when they have a moist veneer to give them a quiet sheen. Plus, when the conditions are right it can feel like living in a cloud… feet firmly planted on land but also somehow not exactly earthbound.
I’m not sure why the phrase “gray day” is so often used to evoke sadness, or depression, or similarly negative connotations. Gray is a beautiful color and, as long as gray skies don’t continue for so long they become monotonous, a gray day can provide plenty to smile about… like the chattered scoldings of a gray squirrel, or the muted hello of a mourning dove. 
[Thanks to the following photographers for making their work available through the Creative Commons license: Tracie Hall; Muddy_Lens; Mathilde AUDIAU; Caleb Roenigk; Lindley Ashline; and Richard. © 2018 Sidewalk Zendo. Reprints welcomed with written permission from the author.]
My ears are entertained, too, because along with the sound of surf I hear a kind of natural wind chime. There’s a small stand of bamboo growing along one segment of the Huckleberry trail, escaped from someone’s backyard I suppose. On windy days the stalks bump and jostle one another, forming meandering melodies. I quiet my judgmental mind for a while and enjoy their music.
The woods have been pretty quiet lately. Many mornings, Dash and I are the only ones on the trail, as both human and non-human residents hole up in their dens and nests, avoiding cold temperatures, rain, and snow. But the neighborhood birds were out and about this morning, looking for breakfast and warming up their singing voices… even though it was hard to be heard over tree limbs creaking and moaning.
With over 2 months to go before the Spring Equinox I can already see signs of spring if I look closely.
It’s the sheerest touch of red that begins to brighten the woodsy grays and browns that are so prevalent during December and January… and I don’t mean glimpses of a northern cardinals or the American robins who stick around even when the mercury stays huddled at the bottom of a outdoor thermometer.
After that first recognition of the year, though, I can’t keep myself from seeing the vegetal signs of life everywhere I look.
The woods are waking up, no doubt. The trees may still be in that semi-dreaming state but their circulatory system is pumping again, as the maple sugarers in the Northeastern US will soon be able to attest.
Speaking of… I think I may need to have some pancakes for breakfast… a celebration of the sweetness of mid-winter and generous trees. An early morning walk makes for a hungry hiker!
Sidewalk Zendo 