When one returns home after a long absence, it is often with
some apprehension. But to walk back into our home was to walk in as if we had
just gone down the street to pick up our mail. Home is home after all. Of
course, we had left things in the more than caring hands of a friend and
neighbour.
However, we thought we might be coming home to an early
spring. That was not to be. Temperatures were cooler than we had expected and
the greening had not taken place. We even were the recipients of a last
lingering snowfall. But despite cool temperatures, we were teased by the
occasional warming rays of the sun. Then days of rain – relentless rain.
Eventually, however, the greening crept forth. The
forsythia started to bloom in quick pursuit of the pussy willows and snowdrops.
And now the daffodils, which had been reluctant at first, have shot up with
buds at the ready. Even the shrubs I had planted last spring, and which
appeared so forlorn, have started to send out new shoots and buds. Spring
cannot be held back for long.
Meanwhile, we have watched the rising and falling of the
tide from the comfort of the fireside. And we have seen the loons and ducks and
geese – and the gulls of course. And the other day we watched two seals appear
from their winter absence and lounge contentedly off our shore. The heron has
been heard. We have even seen it fly in the distance but it has yet to make its
daily strut across our beach: Our proud sentinel.
And our ever-changing view of the dapple coloured hills
across the bay and the cluster of historic multi-coloured matchbox houses that
sit brazenly on the opposite shore are always a source of meditation: the fog,
the mist, the clouds, the sky, the sea air.
But best of all, the eagles have reappeared. One recent morning
an eagle perched defiantly on a large rock at our shore. It stayed there for a
very long time. As it looked slowly about, judging its surroundings, it peered
up at the house. All the while several gulls shrieked and swooped irritably above
its crown.
All seems well.