Tag Archives: geese

Another lovely day in Edmonton

 

The colour of early spring

Just returned from a 90 minute walk around Mill Creek and Louise McKinney Park. All the snow is gone from the paths, which means I can retire my hiking boots for another year, or a few weeks depending on the weather. You’re welcome, knees. So nice to get back into my running shoes, although with all that warm sunshine, I was overdressed in my thermal leggings and jacket.

The thick layer of dirty ice along Mill Creek is cracking, revealing a long snail of brown water, though there doesn’t seem to be much of it. Last year, the lower north end of the ravine flooded, which I discovered by accident. Visions of being carried off by a strong current never came to fruition, thankfully, although my feet made a pleasant squelching noise all the way home. The City must regulate water flow in the creek to some degree. Oh, the power they wield!

Saw three butterflies, or one stalker butterfly, of the type I always see around this time of year: deep brown, almost black with a bright orange outline. Not sure what they are, other than very resourceful and perhaps a bit mad. Also, the four geese that live near the Cloverdale foot bridge, all of whom were finally swimming in the water of the North Saskatchewan River now that the ice has retreated to the shores. Just four days ago I spotted them standing on the ice, looking a little dumbstruck. Or maybe just dumb. Who flies back to Edmonton in March? I mean, seriously.

The paths were full of all sorts of two and four-legged creatures, this being Good Friday and therefore a holiday for everyone except the poor folks at the Route 99 Diner where I had brunch (thank you), and at the Wild Earth Bakery where I bought cookies for my post-walk cool down (double thank you.)

Spotted some flies, a beetle, and when I got home, a half-dead bee on my balcony which quickly became half-a-bee once I let my cat out. Sorry bee…but you know…it’s kinda early, and if it hadn’t been my cat, it would have been the cold, or the lack of lovely things to pollinate, or some other form of natural selection. However, as with the butterflies, I admire your initiative.

2:30 pm/13C