Toward the end of last month, I took a trip up to Edmonton, Alberta, where I spent some time with my now boyfriend! (Yes, it finally happened. I met someone and am happy in that part of my life.) The area around there reminds me of parts of western Massachusetts as well as upstate NY.
One day, he had to work, so I decided to take another field trip for my Environmental Ethics class. Being so much further north, the leaves were starting to turn already and there was a definite nip in the air. Only the end of September, the air felt as cold as I remember it used to feel in November while growing up in central NY. I guess that’s the difference a few hundred miles of latitude will get you.
You’ll notice the post below is much shorter than the first. Sometimes there is peace in brevity.
Mill Creek Ravine, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, 9/30/17
Cold and very windy, the ravine flows below me. The wind whips through the tops of the aspens and evergreen trees towering above me as I sit on the cold, black metal bench. The leaves that have fallen to the ground then crunching beneath my feet as I walk to warm myself. At some places, the water in the ravine flows quickly; in others, not. The flowing water is peaceful, not turbulent. The still water smells sour, almost a bit like sewage, so I move away.
The earth is moist and damp. Who knows how long some of these leaves may have lain here? The sky is grey above me. I wonder – will it rain? Or even snow?
I see trees uprooted, yet with golden and red leaves still on their branches. Fallen trees create natural bridges over the narrow parts of the ravine. I hear the occasional voice or see bounding feet of a dog who stops and lays down before me for a belly rub, sharing his joy after taking a dip in the stream. Grateful for this little slice of nature in the midst of a city.
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