Waiting For The Bay To Come Back

Socked in!  That’s what we were this morning!   A soft gray shroud of fog enveloped Oysterville, isolating us from one another and hiding the bay and even the shoreline from us, though we are practically at water’s edge.  In our little village which is oh-so-quiet most of the time, the silence was prodigious.

Going out to feed the chickens was almost an occasion for tip-toes and whispering.  Were the girls quieter than usual?  A bit muffled, perhaps?  Probably not, but fog can make a person fanciful.

Seagull

As I walked back to the house, I glanced at the church and noticed a line-up of birds along the roof ridge.  Not seagulls — not big enough and a bit too dark in color.  Maybe Eurasian Collared Doves?  Or?  (“Where is Madeline Kalbach when we need her?” I thought.) But whoever they were, I’m pretty sure they were waiting for the bay to come back.  Like the rest of us here, we depend upon our bay to keep us oriented.

Which made me wonder a bit, if you can call my flight of fancy wondering.  Most of us humans don’t give a disappearing bay (or forest or garden, for that matter) a second thought when fog is involved.  We “know” it’s there.  Somewhere.  Perhaps we rely on our memories.  Or on faith.  But what about those birds on the church roof?  What do they rely on to know?  Or do they?  Perhaps they don’t really care.  It’s hard to tell with birds.