Under the steep northern side of the mountain the hoar frost is just starting to melt around the edges of the fields, but here at the head of the bay the foreshore is still crisp and white and the ducks prefer the ocean to the beach. The water smokes in the chilly air.
Sometimes we can feel our way into the lives of others. With human lives even this can be a stretch, but these migrating waterfowl are so wild, so engaged in their journey south and so busy fueling up for the next flight, that a leap into their way of being is difficult. Only when I recall our sailing life on the ocean, those long perilous passages, the intensity of dawn arrivals, can I imaginatively step into their ducky lives.
Syrian refugees are in our minds these days and it is sad that there are so many fearful people in Canada. Those thousands of strangers are made up of individuals who are on an unimaginably fearful journey themselves, leaving behind all they hold dear, afraid to stay home but also afraid of loosing themselves in the customs of another, very foreign, culture. Like those ducks pausing on a frosty shore they gather their strength and will soon leap into the air and chance the voyage. Hope for safe shores and welcoming arms.