“We are all treading the vanishing road of a song in the air, the vanishing road of the spring flowers and the winter snows, the vanishing roads of the winds and the streams, the vanishing road of beloved faces.” – Richard Le Gallienne
Wintering conjures up days of bruised sky, winking raindrops caught in green boughs and brightly coloured berries not yet eaten. It’s a long walk through lush forest and down by the lagoon, eventually finding an empty bench to sit socially distant with an old friend. There is more sun than rain this season (so far) and often, it feels more like spring.
One late afternoon poised between lingering light and enveloping dark, the scent of damp soil and growing things surrounded my senses lifting my heart. Coming home to glowing light, slightly drawn blinds and the tea kettle waiting for water added to the cozy anticipation in those last few steps. Simple pleasures rule the day as we dive deep into year two of the pandemic and now its variants.
Remnants of the holiday season can still be seen in the lone white paper snowflake hanging crookedly in an apartment window, in dangling coloured lights and the odd tree still draped in its December finery. But it’s the signs of spring that pepper my walks and catch my eye these days – the heavenly swathe of yellow daffodils that appear each year on a hill overlooking English Bay, delicate snowdrops appearing like gifts in unexpected places and creamy camellia blossoms poking through shiny green leaves.
January has left us with balmy days and snow-covered mountains, the lagoon and ocean teeming with feathered visitors from far away places and a lone Red Tail hawk haunting an awakening forest. There is random poetry pasted to utility boxes and brightly painted rocks scattered upon garden beds, more small pleasures to shore up against data that can smother one’s senses.
Still restricted to our local community means wintering inside amid a small stack of eagerly picked up books from the library, taking out a beautiful journal I’ve begun bravely jotting down words in and drinking winter teas as notes of ginger and chai swirl around me. It means getting to know the individual crows and sparrows that land on our balcony hoping for a peanut or two which sometimes includes naming them (Hi, Jack Sparrow!).
The languid days of bright spring and warm summer fled this wintering months ago, leaving me to my own devices and much shorter walks. Walks that nevertheless soothe my restless soul and reveal paths back to the time before…
Terry captured this regal pose of the lone Red Tail hawk that visited Stanley Park (Vancouver, B.C.) recently.
Snow finally arrived covering the overhead bridge we walk on to find our way to Beaver Lake here in Stanley Park!
We spent a magical St. Valentine’s Day walking the upper trails in Stanley Park, the air was so fresh and there was hardly a soul so we were free from wearing our facemasks!