Park Place Lodge

By Keith Liggett

In the mountains, some years the transition from fall to winter slides by imperceptibly, moving ever so gradually. Fall leaving a little and winter becoming a little closer, filling up the space until one day it is winter. One day it is snowing, making perfect sense in the order of the seasons. And there are years the transition from fall to winter is like a switch turning on (or off) a light or like walking from one room to another. One day it is fall. And the next it is winter. Yesterday was fall. Today is winter.

The streets were wet this morning. A falling temperature changed the rain to gropple, the little tiny popcorn snow. Within an hour, light snow fell, blown a little by a sharp northeast wind. Over the course of the day it snowed a couple cm an hour.

Outside my office window a mountain ash holds remnant leaves and full season of its distinctive red berries. This morning they were wet. Now they sit stacked with snow. Light snow, not bending the braches. Stacked with the snow that if you walked out you could blow off with a single puff. On the alley, the fence tops have disappeared behind stacked snow on the upper rail and the compost bin lies buried in a drift. Snow drifted into the window corners softening their square nature.

It is winter. Now. Today in Fernie.

Leave a comment

Related Stories