The snake bend
Approaching the snake bend
Taking advantage of yesterday's deceptive sunshine, I strolled to a place I haven't visited recently. The best way is to follow the bicycle path, which doesn't wind too close to the Eramosa and its seductions. When at last the trail approaches the riverbank I stop and breathe. From there I can wander home distractedly as I wish.
The afternoon was blustery and unpleasant. The park was deserted, with no sound but the clatter and screech of cold branches, and remote hum of the fibreglass plant.
Finally reaching the river and turning back, I approached the snake bend, where ripples through the rapids resemble metallic scales. One day during winter 2001, while grappling with Emerson and Dillard's mysticism, I envisioned a serpentine spirit arising from the stream, but it was only imagination. At that moment, I realized I no longer believed in the supernatural, and have been coming to terms with atheism ever since. Yesterday I didn't stop long, but continued upstream.
On the pond swam two ducks. A fiery flare illumined the drake's head. The female was radiant gold. I was dumbfounded.
Proceeding past, I discovered it had been the sunset behind me igniting their iridescence. They were only mallards.
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The essay I wrote that day, January 25, 2001, was originally posted on the themestream website as "A different beauty from Emerson's", and is now located at Silvan's Glade (Maybe missprune remembers it. Can you believe we've been reading one another's ideas for more than five years?).