And the wheel of the year turns again. Two weeks ago, I was walking the Accent Snob on a late November mid-morning, snatched time between buses to and from younger daughter's school in Bells Corner. Both the Ottawa River and the Rideau River (pictured above) were whirling with mists, the silver water looking smooth and thick, like pudding on the boil. I wandered eastward and thought sadly of a friend who had just emailed me that her marriage had ended, and wondered how I'd reply.
Barely a fortnight later, the edges of the Rideau River really were thickening. As I gazed out toward the middle of the Rideau River where the water was dark and still liquid, I glimpsed odd objects dotted along the part where the ice had advanced. Nervously, I continued on for a better look, thinking how they looked about duck-sized and fearing they might be actual trapped birds.
Nope. Someone had evidently been testing the ice with rocks, not someone so foolhardy as to venture out, I hoped. (Although, these days, with global-warming, the ice simply doesn't get as thick as it used to, as people with skidoos and trucks keep discovering every year.)
The sun slipped away, and so did I, before my blood froze as well.
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