An extra day in February, one more winter visit to the river. I know spring doesn't officially start March 1, but in my head it does. The river was gray glass this morning, low, slow, wide swells reflecting a darkening sky. Rain's coming, maybe even snow. A pair of buffleheads fished off the pier, and now and then a seagull drifted by; otherwise, no birds in sight, though I heard a cardinal chipping, staking out territory. A few ferries zipped north and south, making beautiful stark white wakes against the iron water. Why the water is sometimes smooth, sometimes broken into tiny ripples, sometimes choppy, irrespective of the wind, eludes me. I think I need to consult an expert. The Riverkeeper, perhaps.