Changing

Holiday weekends in my family often include a walk at Pretty Colour Lakes, a nearby state park. Today was unseasonably warm for November, sunny and in the 40s, so of course, we went for a walk around the lakes, tramping along paths lined with cedar trees. Well, some of us walked; Urban Sophisticate Sister, who runs marathons, chose to run around the lakes. She is not someone who moves in slow motion.

My father reminisced how when he was a boy, his family drove to this park in a Model T. He'd have a blanket and pillow so he could nap on the back seat. That was more than seventy years ago. Since my parents walked here when my mother was pregnant with me, I always tell people that I've been coming to these lakes since before I was born.

No matter how often I come to Pretty Colour Lakes, I never get tired of the scenery. Even as we walked, the lake changed colour. When the wind moved across the water, the rippling lake turned blue, reflecting the sky. But in quiet coves, when the path led us above old cedar trees and weathered tree trunks, we could look down at the calm surface of the deep lake and see the green-blue colour that this lake is known for.