…it’s a beautiful day.
The other choice? Sunday Bloody Sunday. But this is Edmonton, not Belfast, and the British are our friends.
More than two hours in the sunshine, from one end of Mill Creek to the other, and points beyond. Everywhere, the sound of Caragana seeds cracking in the heat, launching themselves to the ground, and occasionally, my head. Creeks running low, the wildflowers high and loud with bees. Seagulls spiraling and squawking and circling an island on the North Saskatchewan, as two people and a dog invade their space. Folk songs in the air. Dust on the trails. A line-up at the water fountain in Henrietta Muir Park. A couple of Australians having their pictures taken on the Cloverdale Bridge. Bikes and strollers, running shoes and sandals. Wet dogs. Dry dogs. Mosquitoes collecting DNA samples.
Summer in the river valley.
And it couldn’t be nicer.