|
|
|
|
One gray afternoon I set
out in the snow to see what I might see. Few other pedestrians were
about, there was a quietude in the volumes of atmosphere filled with snow.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
In the park, the wet snow made a dreamscape of the trees, bushes and evergreen shrubbery. There
were no other people, but other bipedal life forms were out and about. I
have read that only two types of creatures have ever walked bipedally --
dinosaurs and homo sapiens. The ducks of the park walk bipedally, so
I guess they are dinosaurs. Currently a majority of scientists think
that's the case, that birds are the dinosaurs that remained when the others
died out 65 million years ago. Whether that is true or not, I like
the idea.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
This particular dinosaur seemed a bit chilly there in the frigid water.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Other Mallards ghosted
by in the thickening air. I remember marvelling at their stoic attitude.
Coldness, wet and chilling, lay harmlessly on their insulated shells
of feathers. And I was concerned for my camera; it had once before
malfunctioned in such conditions.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
From a small bridge,
its wooden surface slick with snow, I saw these two drakes paddling slowly
away to what I hope was a comfortable place of rest. I wondered, would
they shake off the snow before it froze solid? Probably so, their kind
have been out in hard weather for many hundreds of thousands of years, and
they probably handle it with old expertise.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I am sure the park was
at this moment far from the minds of those who come here in good weather.
Yet even on a gray late afternoon amid the falling snow there was the
appeal of a silent beauty, made that much more lovely by the very absence
of others. At such times one has it all to oneself.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
My last view of the
Mallards that afternoon as they drifted toward the protected channel and,
I hope, a night of sleep in utter peace and quiet.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The yielding branches
of the pine bend with the weight of the snow and do not break. Life
in the tree flows on unperturbed by embracing crystals of ice.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
This is where I was
that snowy day. The park has many moods, and this one seemed of solitude
and solemnity, of privacy and endurance. Enclosed in myself, I turned
toward home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
