Fifth Journey Day 8: Patience of Water

Date: May 16, 2025
Location: Whitehorse, Canada

I walked the Millennium Trail today, following the path along the Yukon River. It was colder than I expected. My breath hung in soft clouds with each step, but the sky was so wide and pure it felt almost weightless above me. The only sounds along the path were the sound of ice breaking and the low rush of water. The silence in the north has a unique texture that feels different from anything I've experienced. It's not just empty, but also vast and unhurried.

The river was still half-frozen in the winter, with jagged pieces of ice drifting past the smooth, black water. I often stopped to sketch the differences in the land: the broken edges, the thin lines where water moved between frozen surfaces, and the ripples that changed the sky's reflection into soft, uneven patterns. My fingers felt numb from the cold, but I didn't want to stop.

The land feels very natural here. Even the birch trees looked like fancy writing against the pale backdrop of the distant mountains. I filled pages with short, fragmented marks of movement and stillness. The sound of ice breaking was comforting. It reminded me that things change, even in winter.

At one turn in the river, I sat on a cold rock and watched the water flow until my legs felt stiff. A raven flew overhead, its wings making a loud noise. I watched it until it disappeared against the sky.

Later, as I walked back, the setting sun cast thin golden lines across the rough water. There wasn't a big moment or a dramatic view that caught my attention. It's just the slow movement of light and water, and the quiet understanding that this place takes time to reveal itself.

I'm happy to wait.