a swinter day [a short story]

after packing as many layers on as I could I started off, toddling down the road on what felt like an adventure simply because of the sheer fact that I hadn't taken a simple walk in ages. . you can make pretty much anything an adventure if you put things in that perspective. . the day was deliciously bright, the skies puffed up with the purest of white to complement the sturdy blue background and the colours all around me seemed to be sporting a summer look, with the shadows leaving plenty of room for the sun to light up the fields. . it was breathtaking. .and yet the one thing that peeled away the label of summer was the chill-driven wind that would sweep in, grabbing wisps of my hair out of my scarf and stroking its cold fingers across my face..it was at this I would shudder and retreat further into my layers and yet its bitter cold could not turn me back because the scene before me spoke of better invitations than a retreat to my house. .

. .and so I continued along concession 6, through the stop sign marking sandford road's meeting place with concession 6 and straight on down the worn gravel. . my destination cannot be described as a place but possibly more as an event, or a thing. . in fact, it was actually unknown, the exact place in which my feet would stop and circle back around towards my house. . and so with this unknown anticipation in mind I continued on my way, scanning the road ahead for any sign of a figure. . the first figure I came upon was an older man who started off from his house down his driveway until I was able to perceive that we would pass each other at exactly the same moment- - he caught by the task of unmasking whatever his mailbox had to offer, and I caught in the line of passing him, and so I offered up a cheerful hello before we reached the crossing point in hope of a friendly neighborly exchange (as seems so common in the country and pleasantly delightful). . he responded with the same and as he reached for the mailbox he commented on the cold wind that had pushed its way into the day and (perhaps into his bones), remarking that it hindered a nice walk, and yet I smiled informing him that the wind was at my back as of now, not so much of an enemy as it would be on my way back. . his eyebrows went up at the thought - -perhaps it had escaped his mind, the thought of a pleasentry walk on a day like this, perhaps he simply assumed I had an immediate destination. . either way, we waved goodbye and I continued on my way. .

. . maybe I should explain the event of my destination so that you will not be concerned as to whether my mind had frozen and had me wandering aimlessly about on a country road until I felt the need to turn. . no rather, the point of my walk was to meet a friend, Robyn Huizenga to be exact and though we knew that we would both set off from our houses at 1 o'clock and both head towards each other, we knew not where the meeting place of initial contact would be. .it was a delightful suprise that kept me from counting down the mailboxes I had to pass, or worrying about the time. .[I wonder if more people made appointments in this way, if people would be less frantic about meeting and more observant of the delight of the occasion--although I do presume that on a city street it could be more stressful, as there are thousands of people destined to catch your eye or attention in place of the clouds and trees this day that caught mine]. . it was after awhile of some aimless scanning that my eyes zeroed in on a particular black dot that appeared to possibly be just another mailbox lining the road, and yet my mind felt as though it could be something else, a person perhaps--possibly Robyn herself. . my eyes were so focussed on this spec that when it seemed to waver as it if was in motion, I had to rub my eyes to make sure I was seeing right. . perhaps it was just the light glancing off the road that made its wavering seem so obvious and yet so faint-- I could not put my finger on any certain possibility and so I continued to watch it. .bit by bit it became more wiggly and as it took on a shape the angle in which it faced me made it appear as if it was imitating a penguin's waddly walk- -in fact the humour of it flicked my imagination into the movie Mary Poppins where all the cartoon penguins appear and I thought of the millions of movies where children simple imagine a character appearing and suddenly it comes alive for them. .I admit, I tried it for a moment thinking my imagination could conjure it up for a second or two. . and it worked for a second, a penguin appeared mirroring the smile on my face and for a split second I was tempted to conjure up a few more, but then the fields beside me caught my eye and the magic was lost in the reality of the silliness I was entertaining. .

. .so I brought my concentration back to the figure itself, still a waddling show of motion. .as it got closer I began to see that the root of the figure were looking more like feet, or boots rather, quickly slipping in and out of the line in which the shape was following. . I waved, a quick sweep of a wave, not really to get a definite reaction but just to see if it would wave back, this little grey-black apparition, that became seemingly more real the closer it got to me. . eventually I got to the point where the figure became a possible Robyn, and with another wave she started running towards me. . I felt caught between running myself, telling her she doesn't have to run and yet I continued to casually approach thinking how odd it felt to walk towards someone you knew you were meeting and yet it was feeling of suprise all throughout. . as she got closer and closer I could see the color black defined as a grey coat and the motion behind her head consisted of her hair flapping wildly in the wind, drawn back behind her by the rush of the run. . we finally met, stopping at our destination to greet with reflected honest smiles and a hug, followed by a rush of greetings and wonder at the gorgeous day. .we turned around to head back along the road towards my house, a walk to be continued and yet though it was the same road, it had hardly the same feel. . looking back I realize I can't even pinpoint the place in which we chose to turn back, the importance of the meeting place was brushed aside by the importance of our greeting. .the walk back to my house was delightful not because of the walk itself (as now--the destination was not a suprise) but rather the exchanges of conversation that we let the wind snatch, here and there. . it was first about the scenery, and then about the friend, with all the normal instinctive planning replaced by the sponaeity of the day itself. . that gorgeous swinter day. . .