Water In The Bones

"Tide's coming in," he said.

We were sitting inside the barn, in front of a morning fire. I threw him a glance. "How can you tell?"

"I can smell it."

He paused. And then added, "Can't you?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"You've been away too long ..."

And then, there it was. I smiled and he chuckled, "I thought so."

Twice each day, the Atlantic presses herself through the Bay of Fundy and into the Minas Basin where the Avon River awaits. Literally, breathless. Twice each day the Atlantic takes herself back and the Avon gives her up only reluctantly.

In the mornings, especially if there is a chill in the air, the tide goes out with much fanfare - taking with it the misty fog under which it churns.