Winter Passes By

I might be projecting a bit here, but I registered a glimmer of recognition in the glance and quick nod of the jogger as he came off the Groat Bridge this morning. I was pedalling onto the bridge, and  had stopped to take a picture of the winter scene.

Winter

It's interesting to watch for the things that make us stop. I was struck by the winter layers: the crusty pavement, and then the tree lit by hoar frost, then the curve of the bridge, the river bank, and then the grey blue of the sky. When you are struck, you stop. And when you are stopped, it's easier to take a picture to record if not the feeling that did the striking, then, at least, the digital footprint. So, I reached into my back pocket and grabbed my iPhone and took the pic. By this time the jogger was right in front of me. As he passed, there was a smile in his eyes and he nodded.

No words, but I took it to mean:

One day, maybe soon, more Edmontonians will discover that, while there are things wrong with life in this city, winter is not one of them. Winter is lovely. The play of pale blues and greys and silvers on a foggy day. The silver and glass, as Leonard Cohen says. The paths are cleared, the air is fresh, there is laughter just behind from children sliding down the Emily Murphy Park hill toward the straw bales, and toward the smell of straw bales which I will always associate with tobogganing as a child. There are people out on foot and on bikes, but not many. It is open. But it won't always be this way. One day, maybe soon, more Edmontonians will discover this city in winter. And then there will be more of us riding our bikes and jogging by. And that will be good. But this is, too.

Like I said, maybe I am projecting too much into a glance and a nod. Maybe he was wincing in pain. Maybe not.

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