You can't duck winter

Dried leaves
Browning grass
Balding trees

Evidence Everywhere

The weather turning, churning cold chill
Refreshing, startling, thrill
Breeze ruffles through feathers, gracing goose-bumped skin.
The wind, the season, the pond all heeds the tell-tale call
Water, bowing, turns stone
Winter’s here
Sweet summer sinking debris now prone
To stand not float
Feathers touch ice

After being cooped up in our little townhouse for a couple of days, we ventured out in need of fresh air and a place to jump without fear of bothering our downstairs neighbours. My four-year-old girl watched Angelina the Ballerina and now aspires to prance, hop, and jump ballet. Leaving the house, a need to reconnect to nature drove us to Confederation Park.For us newly mint expatriates, the changing season is rather unnerving. Snow on my deck has not melted although it only snowed once a month ago, and leaving the house without a long coat is not an option even on the sunniest of days. With each passing day, we struggle to adapt to the shorter days, biting wind, and the unknown “real” winter as our native neighbours dub the impending season. Among the turning autumn colours—tan grass, dead leaves and bare trees—we found ducks out of water. In the pond, a top layer of ice covered the wet depths, leaving the fowls with no choice but to stand on their pond. The metaphor wasn’t lost on me. We may feel out of place, Calgary may be a slightly different world for us, but we aren’t ducks out of water.