Winter Walk

The colours of Cookstown winter are all browns until you look closely: see the soft hay of dried grass, a withered leaf, complete stillness of blue snow in shadows of sunset: Just the stillness I was searching for.

Evergreens cluster beneath dramatic clouds; red berries cling to branches. Then, all at once, the sun is gone, the warm light is gone, and all is blue. The breath of the biting cold. Glowing red cheeks beg me to turn homeward, toward rooflines and comfort, so I do.

Even in this frozen image, a brook insists on moving, but as I cross the bridge, I cannot hear the water that runs under it. There’s yellow caution tape suddenly, and glowing orange pylons interrupt peaceful silence.

I keep moving through my neighbourhood, and the return to my own driveway is a relief. The sun is gone, but the sky still softly sings an Orchestra of pastel sunset. I take one last look up before stepping into my warm garage, my cheeks glowing brighter for having ever been cold.

The smell of frost is with us, but not the feeling. Tomato soup, the colour of the setting sun, is ready, and pink toes stretch for cover. At last, we find just the shelter we searched for when we stepped outside.