That's the greyness speaking. Snow, at least, reflects and whitens the light; rain drowns it. At three in the afternoon, it was too dark to read outside. And we couldn't see the red colouring on the finches; all the birds looked drab grey and muddy black.
I needed to remind myself of sunshine; it exists, even here, even at the tail end of the year. Really. These photos, from the White Rock beach, barely nine days ago, prove it.
|Orange dog carefully walking a log.|
|Common goldeneye male.|
|Mount Baker, reflecting the light. Look for the two eagles.|
|Robin's heart on a rock|
|By the railroad track two rabbits hid in the wild rose thicket until we had passed.|
|Red canoe and pink sky|
|Bare branches with crow's nest, turned red-brown by the sinking sun.|
|The rose hips are plentiful this year.|
|Folds in a sandstone rock.|
|Laurie sees a face in this log; I see a sleek otter curled up to sleep inside the scar.|
A Skywatch post.