Driving to Spruce Meadows

Looking to the left…lake iced over except for an open circle in the middle.  Ice marked with dark lines, like wrinkles on an old man’s face…a huge mouth gaping open.  White ice dazzled by evening light, molded, beautiful and somehow indescribable. (she writes on, not knowing if that ‘e’ belongs after the ‘b’)  Ducks live on the traced line of the open circle, creating a darker outline and inventing something other-worldly.
As she drives home, going east now, all is slightly dimmer…the water now is ‘coloured in’ with living birds.  The car shifts slightly to the right as she notices a huge flock of birds approaching and then swooshing into the middle of the action…a spot for every bird…she ponders parallel parking as she carries on, somehow changed.

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