He reclines against the back of the wagon, legs out stretched. Contentedly bumping along to the rhythm of the path, intermittently covered with ice and snow. We’ve been walking all of three minutes before she must walk. We slow to the pace of the smallest legs in our collection of six. And, she must, absolutely never avoid the icy patches.
Oh, wild eyes the brave.
A peaceful grey hoovers in the sky, but just below it a palette of buttery yellow and calm orange is swept across the horizon.
Winter is not my favorite, but I do prefer the winter version of this park to its summer counterpart. In the warm months, it’s bursting with runners and bikers, kids fishing and men boating. The park is full awkward mommy conversations and children trying to trample mine. The lifeguard rules on their lofty perch and restricts all the fun (or something like that).
But on these January days, we walk in silence among the undressed branches and powdery snow. We pass only a few quiet souls and their dogs. The furry creatures roam unrestricted and you can sense the freedom in the air, carried on the chill that paints our noses red.
Here on this path, under the spiny trees and the empty benches than line our steps, we are calm and alive, doing exactly what makes us feel best.
I pull the wagon and notice the way the branches curl and bend against the grey winter sky, like a chandelier of shadows in a room full of light.
All of us wild creatures thriving in the open air.