We have taken some lovely early morning walks recently. Today, we walked for an hour in a soupy fog along the Mystic River, entertained now and then by misty swans moving along the river in their usual distinguished manner. There was something special about being in a grayness that made all other colors disappear, leaving a bare but very beautiful winter landscape. When we came among houses (and probably bird feeders) we heard the songs of birds on both sides of the roads, bringing a feeling that spring would soon be coming to this cold, austere-looking landscape. (There was spring in our steps, too, as we pranced up and down the streets.)

Swans in the mist . . .