I seek centeredness from within, to stay up on Ottawa’s streets of ice. My relaxation and fitness regimen en plein air transforms to contest by the effects of climate today. But I am rooted in my objective. Challenge looms on our front steps. The taunting glaze waits at every level. My mittened hands chip away at the coating on black wrought railings, then clutch them for descent. Salt sprinkled hours ago will prove cure or placebo. On the sidewalks this morning’s snow coverlet conceals the frozen rain. Concentration the required art, coupled with a semblance of agility. Blind faith for good measure. The song lyrics to Suzanne takes you down** play in my head from my earlier sun salutation session on terra firma. I place one foot at a time, allowing only a small span of space between. So far so good. I draw from the balance of Hatha Yoga. Remember my posture, and chakras. The red Root one at the base of the spine represents the Earth, and survival instincts. A sense of grounding. I borrow another mantra (from driver's education)- aim high in steering.

The road, browned by city crews into gingersnap dough under floury white, presents the safest-seeming path. There are blessings to living on a bus route. I follow pioneer tire treads and boot prints. Drivers adjust to share the space while shaking their heads at me. I pass the charactered post-World War II houses I’ve lived among all my life. Rounding the corner and heading southwest, I surprise the neighbour’s newest guard dog, who startles me to near-collapse. The black Belgian Shepherd barks his warnings, and bounds, throwing three-quarters of his torso over the trellis fence. He could clear it, I wager. ormally the bane of my walks, he comes second to what’s under my feet today. Fear has its hierarchies.

The wind I’m against in this direction adds bitter blasts in its holocaust search to exploit exposed skin. This side road less-traveled presents greater risk of falling. And an illusion of emptiness, near-silence, except for songs from cardinals and chickadees. And more canine outbursts. Most come from friends, toys and labs, mongrels and poodles I know by name. I ponder white stripes ahead. Were they made by bikes? Now comes a sequence of rabbit droppings, paw prints and a single yellow maple leaf on a snowbank. The skyscraper-in–progress (I’m being facetious) saddled with boom crane, stands ghostly in grey mist. Work on this monster( imposed on us six months ago), seems to honor the Sabbath. Tomorrow at dawn the machinations of construction will harass again. The avenue spreads westward bound to the horizon line, its cherished openness tainted now by the high-rise. Concentration falters. My right foot glides out from under me. I extend my hand to break my fall. Neck and head snap back. I’ve no choice but to go it with grace. To resist gravity worsens the effect. I learned that in labour. The down-fill of my coat cushions my back. The ego suffers the worst. Foolish woman, refusing to concede that some days in Ottawa are non-negotiable. But only the inflatable Grinch from the policewoman’s house smirks at me. And he’s been down more than up himself, lately, his first winter here. He has no resilience for the winds. His owner never quits on him, either. We’re both stubborn in our efforts to succeed. I rise again. for an abbreviated journey. Polka-dotted in snow, throbbing at the knee, I retreat. Looking down more now -though I prefer the ballerina’s high-headed posture, and focus for spotting for spiral pirouettes. Old dreams forsaken years ago. But I choreograph a new shuffle-step to complete my trek home. Looking up once again, I see at my neighbor’s front door the fuschia of her jogging suit. It’s time for her run.
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01/05/2004

Author's Note: Prose Poem (Title by permission of my daughter Valerie Glaude)who'd coincidentally thought it up this while out negotiating on foot the same day.
~~~~~~~~~~ ** Leonard Cohen's Suzanne

Posted on 01/05/2004
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