It’s raining, which means, it will be snowing soon. Don’t know why that should bother me, and in fact, it doesn’t.  I just hope that when it does snow, it’s the attractive stuff. Not the tiny, hard pellet stuff.

As I was walking home from the Strathcona Farmer’s market, the sun came out, which caused me to rethink my plans for the afternoon. I was going to catch up on some reading, but decided to go for a walk instead. The weather people are forecasting all sorts of nasty things for tomorrow, so a walk in the sun seemed a prudent choice. However, by the time I got into my gear, the sun went back from whence it came, and the clouds moved in. Tomorrow’s clouds, all heavy and grey with rain. I went anyway, and it turned out to be one of those gorgeous, mind-calming autumn walks where the sleeping landscape offers every nuance of earth-tone colour, and the chill, though present, never reaches the bone.

And then it started to rain. I heard it first, rustling the dead leaves. I was only about 20 minutes from home (or more specifically, the bakery), so the barely there drops were no bother at all.

The surface of the river has a stream of translucent ice crêpes, but not the thicker, and far more serious ice

pancakes that herald the freezing over of the North Saskatchewan. Also, Mill Creek is partially frozen, but the water is still running below and over the ice. Same as last year. There was no snow on the ground either, so the open paths and brown landscape does not seem that unsual. What is unusual is that I keep running into cats. It makes sense that the cats who are allowed to wander outside in this area would eventually make their way into the ravine, but I rarely see them. On day three of my four days off, I’ve now seen about six, and I even watched a black cat take out a mouse yesterday, which was rather surprising, especially for the mouse. I just happened to be looking in the right spot when a cat leaped out of the tall grass and seconds later, strolled casually through the stalks looking incredibly proud, with a dead mouse hanging from it’s mouth. I’ve seen the same look on my cat’s face when she pounces on a potato chip. Can’t imagine letting my kitty outdoors, especially in these coyote-lousy woods. Nevertheless, the cats, all of them, appeared to be happy enough.

2:13PM/3C

Sunrise: 7:59AM  Sunset: 4:39PM

Gotta love my neighbourhood. Last year, The Tin Box on Whyte Ave, whose windows are always fabulous, added a moving Christmas display right out of A Christmas Story. No Red Ryder 200-shot Carbine Action Air Rifle, but it had a sparkling snowman and three monkey drummers, and it was a big hit. This year, the newly named Return of the Magic event has spread to nine other stores along Whyte Avenue, and it’s quite simply, a blast. A blast from the past.

When I was a kid, I remember riding a trolley bus downtown (thrill #1), to see the Christmas vignettes in the windows of the Hudson’s Bay Company (thrill #2), with my older sisters (thrill #3). That was many, many years ago (at least ten.) The trolley buses are gone, and so is the Bay (in that location), but the monkeys are back, and the bears. And my sisters? They still take me places. When I promise to be good.

I knew something was up when I was walking around Whyte Avenue last Saturday. A few of the stores had sheets

of brown paper covering their windows and posters with strange Return of the Magic teasers. Once I saw the snowman display at The Tin Box, I figured something whimiscal this way comes. Astonishingly, the vintage animatronic characters, which also includes bears, elves, and a Jesus, were found tucked away and forgotten in a basement. Re-furred and refurbished by White Rabbit Creative Enterprises of Edmonton to a sparkling, candy-coloured sheen, you could eat off those bears, but I wouldn’t recommend it. They look friendly, but you know, they’re bears.

It makes a lot of sense to set up these Christmas displays along Whyte Avenue. Unlike downtown, the area not only has pedestrians, it is pedestrian welcoming, with year-round tree lights, the occasional bar, glass store-fronts, and a whole lot of ridiculously creative window displays. The Wish List (otherwise known as the Christmas store) always has a crackingly good festive display, and Laurels on Whyte often incorporates a live Weimaraner into their art glass window arrangement. That is, if she has a mind to sit in the window…quite often she’s curled up by and/or on the cash register. Taking the windows of Whyte Avenue to this next level seems a natural progression. If only it would snow. It’s Christmas, apparently.

As the darkness descends on this side of the hemisphere, chasing me out of the river valley and on to the streets, as it were, these shorter walks along Whyte Ave have some compensations. Let’s face it, I’ve seen some amazing things in the woods, but the squirrels do not wear band uniforms, nor do they play instruments. How very disappointing, and lazy. If I have to be ‘above ground’ for the next two months, at least I’ll have something to enjoy.

5:50 PM/3C

This first morning of the return to Standard Time was very gloomy, and I was considering not going for a walk at all, but by noon the sun was out, and off I went. Once again, the sun has guilted me out of my natural indolence. After 90 minutes, I can say without equivocation that the day has turned out to be very fine indeed. Dubious beginnings plague us all, I guess. The air was cool, but not so cool I had to wear gloves, no wind, and the sky was full of blue. Perfect.

Went backwards into Mill Creek, by which I mean, the opposite route to my usual; I did not tumble down the ravine, although I have. Went up the stairs by the French school, followed by a bit of heaving, and then back down through Rutherford into South Mill Creek. It’s a good loop. Lots of hills, and seven or eight bridges from one end of Mill Creek to the other. Amazing that for all intents and purposes, this ever-changing, gorgeous piece of landscape is in my backyard. Or a few blocks from it.

And to think I would have missed all this for a third cup of coffee and a fat new novel!  I guess that’s why the Flying Spaghetti Monster made Sunday afternoons. Thank you, FSM. I shake your noodly appendage for both this beautiful day, and this fat new novel I’m about to read. Oh, and the third cup of coffee.

2:03 PM/3C

Sunrise 7:44 AM/Sunset: 4:51 PM (weep)

Friday, November 5th. The last work day of Daylight Saving, and my last day to take the long way home through the woods and trails of the river valley. The thing is, I was tired, and I could have taken a shorter route, but I just kept walking until the sun ran out. It seemed the right thing to do.

I took my final step out of the river valley around 6:10, when the sky was a soft blue, and the light had passed from that gilded hyper-focus of just before sundown to the diffused purple of dusk. There were no other people on the trails. Other than a small, fat-footed white rabbit near the entry to Mill Creek Ravine, I was entirely alone. The hare was obviously very young, and it was motionless long enough for me to pull out my camera, but not long enough to actually pull off a shot, which explains why 99% of my photographs are of trees and rocks. The other rabbits I’ve seen of late have been half and half. This is the first snow white specimen, and it was shockingly conspicuous amongst all the brown. Just like I’d be on a beach. I hope it snows soon (that’s what the rabbit said, before it ran away.)

Daylight Saving is such a blandly descriptive phrase. And it’s not even that descriptive. No actual daylight is

saved, it’s just redistributed. And the name doesn’t begin to capture the promise of long summer evenings, or conversely, the crushing blow when Daylight Saving is lifted, and the hours are marked not by the abundance of light, but by the absence of it. It’s a self-imposed feel good/feel bad situation, like watching ballet, or opening a bag of fun-sized Mars Bars. It starts out great, but by the end, you want to open a vein.

It’s OK. Really. The dark holds it’s own kind of promise, and I actually love winter, but I will miss the daily walks in the wood. Until mid-January, it’s all about the street lights of Jasper Avenue and the speeding traffic of 99 St. Headphones to drown out the noise, and layers of clothing to keep out the cold. Even in winter, all walks are good walks.

6:30PM/8C

…to walk home along the river valley paths after work. And, it was a great walk, almost 90 minutes in duration. Bright sunshine, dim sunshine, and then twilight. Next week it will be dim sunshine and twilight. And the week after that, night and plenty of it. It doesn’t feel like November, but I’ll take the calendar’s word for it.

The magpie nest I passed near Louise McKinney Park was enormous. Without the foliage on the trees, their nests are suddenly in plain view, and ya gotta admit, these birds are impressive home builders. I’m on record as being one of the few people who actually love magpies, so I never miss an opportunity to sing their praises, or feed them, if I happen to have a peanut or two on my person. Which I often do. At my bird feeder, the magpies pick through the nuts until they find whatever passes for peanut perfection, and then carry it off to the nearest tree to poke out the nut with their beaks. Again, impressive. Sure, they might prefer a half-eaten weenie, or the desiccated carcass of some lesser life form, but they are discerning and rather graceful peanut nibblers.

I’m glad to have their company throughout the winter months. I just hope those giant nests have central heating.

5:40PM/11C

Another spectacular day. Well, maybe I’m overstating it a bit. It was nice. The sun was shining, and it was warm. I didn’t win the lottery or anything. My walk home started out in bright sunshine, but 45 minutes later, I could see my breath, and the light was dim. It’s DAY 3. My third last day to take the long route home. By Monday, after daylights saving is lifted, I’ll only be able to take the mid-length river valley routes. And a week or so after that, no river valley paths at all. That’s OK. It’s only for a couple of months, and walking in the dark along city streets has it’s own pleasures. More podcasts, Christmas lights, and I can sing along to the songs on my iPod. Without the sun, and in traffic, no one can hear me, no one see me. Bring on the Abba.

The paths in Mill Creek are wide and open without the leaves. There are times in the summer when the trails are so lush, it’s impossible to walk untouched by a branch or a leaf. Now, in it’s defoliated state, it’s hard to imagine. The colours are stunning, but subtle, and I wish my camera was better at low contrast, low light photographs. Of course, it might just be me, and I will admit I’ve never actually cracked the manual, but I do my best. Which is adequate.

Nice to see that the Turtle Effigy stone installation appears to be a permanent feature at the entry to Louise McKinney Park. It’s become part of the landscape. Grass took over by mid-summer and now it’s as if the rocks have always been there, like the Chinese obelisk above the Effigy and the GIANT public washroom below. I am the first to admit, McKinney is weird, but I love this little parkette.

6:05PM/9C

Sunrise: 8:37 AM Sunset: 5:58 PM