On a chilly morning in April, there is a subdued beauty to the marsh. Filled with subtlety and variation, it’s a sensory feast. The sky transitions from peach to brilliant gold, lighting the mist that lies low over the grassy hummocks and tide-carved channels. The promise of color lies hidden in silhouettes. The rising sun rays brush the low-lying mist, setting it aglow. They light the feathery edges of fern grass with an amber glow and caress the bellies of flying mallards against brilliant blue skies. Gulls call and crows caw. The air is chilly and permeated with the deep rich scent of damp earth and the organic tang of swampy water. Song sparrows rustle and flit from shrub to shrub, intermittently singing their sweet notes. A great blue heron picks its way through the shallows. It’s a glorious place to greet the new day.
Some people say there’s no magic in the world. Clearly, they have never have walked in the marsh at sunrise.