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Page 4
Lilac Lane. Goldenrod
heads, frothing with seed, line the path. In May the surrounding meadow
would be vibrant with the songs of birds like the catbird, brown thrasher,
American redstart and Blackburnian warbler. Now it is silent except for the
brief tittering of a chickadee. A red-tailed hawk circles far overhead. I go as
far as the grassy bank on the Eramosa River across from Guelph Correctional
Centre, where I startle a flock of mallards. On the return journey I notice the
same acrid smell, and this time recognize it as burnt plastic, from the Huntsman
chemical plant across the river. Also on the way, I see dark-eyed juncos and
tree sparrows for the first time this fall. These winter visitors don't bring
as much excitement as the warblers and thrushes of May.
November 23. This afternoon is unseasonably mild, with a forecast high of 13°C (54°F). The entrance to the park sits heavy with the smell of rotting maple, fertile and pleasantly sour. Wherever large trees grow, two or three grey squirrels scuttle through the fallen leaves. When I approach they disappear, but I can hear them scritching up the far side of the trunk. This has been a week of strange cloud formations. A magnificent, downy plume rises in the west, over the Owen Corning plant. Along the river, golden marsh grasses strike a vivid contrast with the dark skeletons of willows, all marbled in reflections on the water. November 28. This day has been a seesaw battle between snow and rain. Walking home from dinner, Danny and I are showered with big, fluffy snowflakes. |
