In these monochromatic days of winter, I look out the window and see a world in shades of gray.

When I scan a photograph with my computer, it gives me three options: "millions of colors," "black and white," or "256 shades of gray." I don't always need millions of colors, but if I use the black and white setting, I lose details and highlights.

I make the same mistake when I look at life's complexities through a black and white filter. Not everything can be neatly sorted into compartments of right or wrong, good or bad. I need those 256 shades of gray.

My dictionary says gray is "lacking cheer or brightness in mood, outlook, style or flavor." Who am I to argue with Webster, but I just don't see it that way. I welcome the restful calm of gray days.

The world outside my window offers even more than the computer's 256 shades of gray. The spectrum from white to black seems infinite.

Dull-white snow on the ground and sunless sky provide a muted background for the skeletal lines of trees and shrubs. Stripped of summer greenery, they display their inner beauty, an exhibit of structure and grace.

Even the evergreens, although still clothed, have a charcoal hue on these dimly lighted days.

The steel-gray river sends up icy splashes as black and white Canada geese make their turbulent landings. Chickadees, juncos and quail gather in a riot of gray at our bird feeder.

IT'S THE TIME of year when nature says to us, "Are you paying attention?" Color appears in such small dabs, you might miss it.

There are the spidery crimson twigs of red dogwood on the riverbank and the tiny red breast of house sparrows - although they're mysteriously sparse at our feeder this winter.

Most audacious in color - and behavior - are the teal-capped male mallards, waddling on bright orange feet, toppling all over each other in greedy haste to snatch seeds scattered by birds at the feeder above.

I wonder about nature's plan that dresses males in such conspicuous coloring. The females demurely fade into the background with their feathers of gray-brown, like pioneer women in humble homespun garb. Is the plan to draw attention away from the female, to protect her?

Indeed, raptors are omnipresent these days. Bald eagles swoop and dive along the river, perching on the highest trees, screeching at each other in voices so spooky I shiver despite the warmth inside our house.

HAWKS WERE especially noticeable yesterday, reducing the crowd at our feeder as smaller birds wisely took cover.

The unusual number of hawks caused me to reflect. We ourselves were exhibiting hawk-like behavior. Congestion was building in my husband's lungs-an especially dangerous condition for one who is paralyzed. We scrutinized every symptom and aggressively attacked.

We took his temperature, monitored oxygen saturation, administered antibiotic and breathing treatments, adjusted oxygen settings, ratcheted up household humidity, applied cold compresses - every possible remedy from high-tech to homespun.

Through it all, he endured patiently, as stoic as the great blue heron (really blue-gray) who hunkers for hours on a chunk of ice downriver.

In the afternoon, the sun broke through briefly, creating a bright blue dome above our gray world. I felt as if I were living in one of those glass balls that you shake and then watch snow fall on a winter scene.

Only no one has shaken this ball; our snow remains crusted on the ground.

This morning John's fever has dropped and his breathing is stronger. We settle back to rest - and watch - amidst the 256-plus shades of gray.

Mary Koch is caregiver for her husband John E. Andrist, a stroke survivor. They welcome your comments at P.O. Box 3346, Omak, WA 98841, or e-mail marykoch@marykoch.com. Recent columns are on the Internet at www.marykoch.com.