New Year’s Day Walk

I promised, or threatened, myself that on New Year’s Day I’d walk around both halves of Wascana Lake–both the half frequented by strollers and the other, less populated half by the university and the Ring Road. It felt like a good way to begin the new year, to clear away the cobwebs left behind by the old one. So, this morning, after breakfast, we set off on our journey.

It was just cold enough that there were sundogs in the clear blue sky, just cold enough that the trees were covered in frost. A lovely day, really, to be outside. We trudged along Wascana Creek, where we passed a young man hauling a blue wheelie bin filled with scrap plastic somewhere for some odd purpose, and then crossed Albert Street and entered the park. I ignored the opportunities for photography offered by the frost. Instead, I found myself delighting in forward momentum, in rhythm, the steady plodding of my footsteps. That is, until the reality of a lazy Christmas week kicked in, and I had to slow my pace. I envied the grace of the runners who passed us, their speed, the apparent effortlessness of their footfalls. People walking dogs were friendly but kept their companions tightly leashed; no opportunities for petting warm fur were afforded. Animal tracks crossed the snow, but no animals were visible; chickadees and other birds called, but I saw few. The park was mostly empty, an expanse of white snow and blue shadows. Ice fog rose from the lake, and through it, a condominium development on the other side of the Ring Road took on the appearance of a castle. A smell of rotten eggs rose from the lake, too, as anaerobic bacteria digested the summer’s goose poop. The resulting gas must find its way through cracks in the lake ice. Frost glittered in the air. A raven croaked.

As morning became afternoon and the temperature rose, the frost began dropping from the trees in large, white tufts. The sundogs disappeared. We wandered out of the park into a neighbourhood we didn’t know, following streets and alleys that curved back and delivered us close to where we began. No matter. A quick lunch and then home, down streets worn familiar with repetition. It’s hard to find new things in a small city; sometimes that desire is limited to a novel piece of graffiti, or a row of trees seen from a new angle, or an alley previously unknown and untrodden. Or, as today, a cityscape made unfamiliar by hoarfrost.