I love where we live. The prairie landscape is captivating and ever-changing. It isn’t perfect, but does offer many moments of perfection. The best ones are those which catch us off guard – the ones we don’t expect when conditions, as we perceive them, are less than ideal.
Last Tuesday had been relatively mild for the end of February in Manitoba. I was looking forward to a beautiful evening walk, but by late afternoon, the temperature dropped significantly. An uncharacteristic fog rolled in as the sun began to set.
Somewhat disappointed with change in conditions, I headed out with the dog to take advantage of those last few lingering moments of daylight. As we walked along our quiet rural road, the stillness of the evening engulfed us.
The only sounds were my boots crunching in the snow, the tags on the dog’s collar lightly jingling as she trotted along, and an owl softly calling out in the distance. There wasn’t a breath of wind, no traffic in the distance, no planes flying overhead. It was if there were no one else in the world but us.
Some might have found it eerily quiet but the stillness was beautiful, calming, peaceful. Ribbons of fog wove their way across the frozen, snow-covered fields and over the road. As daylight dwindled, a canopy of stars appeared above and the snow moon began to rise in the east.
It was a serene, unassuming evening, the kind you don’t want to end. One you would like to be able to bottle and share, so everyone could experience a touch of peaceful prairie perfection.