Around the lake...

That morning I was driving past Washington Park when something made me slow down, pull over, and step out of the car. No plan. Just a walk around the lake. Just to look. Just to breathe the cool December air.

 

There isn’t much color here this time of year. The trees are bare, the grass muted, the landscape resting. The sky is usually the only source of color, a winter blue - but even that felt subdued this morning. Still, this is winter, and any hint of color feels like a gift.

Walking around a lake in Colorado almost guarantees seeing geese. A few dozen at a small pond, hundreds at a larger one, and thousands at Barr Lake. Washington Park sits somewhere in between. Plenty of birds (mostly geese) gliding slowly across the water, indifferent to the people passing by.

The trail curved gently to the right, leading toward the trees at the center of the park, and I followed without thinking.

Squirrels appeared, as they always do. Nearly as common as geese, and just as comfortable around people. One paused long enough for me to notice my own reflection in its dark, watchful eye.

Back near the lake, I stopped at one of the few spots where the mountains reveal themselves in the distance. I always pause there. No matter how many times I’ve seen them, the mountains still feel like a quiet surprise.

Geese normally move slowly, so when something cuts through the water with purpose, it catches my attention. This time it was a Common Goldeneye - sleek, alert, and uncommon enough to feel like a small reward for keeping an eye on the water.

I lingered by the shore, watching the water. Not perfectly still, but calm enough to cast some reflections.

A goose landed nearby - loud, clumsy, unapologetic. They always announce themselves.

On the far side of the lake, the water was calmer, the reflections sharper. I stood for a few minutes, quietly watching the upside down trees and clouds...

Another movement caught my eye - a Ring-necked Duck, keeping its distance, slipping easily into the crowd of geese as if trying not to be noticed.

I continued walking, reminded that even familiar birds can surprise you. A low-flying group suddenly swept across the water and landed with a heavy splash - brief chaos, then calm again.

As I turned back to look at the mountains again, a sharp mechanical sound filled the air. A small helicopter passed low overhead, crossed the park, and vanished to the south, leaving the sky quiet once more.

Near the open lawns, the clouds above were layered and dramatic, shifting slowly in the winter light.

Then another sound, softer this time, closer. A kid was launching a small model aircraft. 

It lifted, climbed, circled. I watched for a while, tracing its slow loops against the sky.

Eventually, I moved on.

At the smaller lake, a Ring-billed Gull flew low toward me, wings catching the light before it veered away. And that’s when I noticed how still the water had become - smooth, reflective, almost unreal.

As I framed the reflections, the gull returned, flying even lower this time, looking straight in my eye before disappearing again.

That felt like the right moment to leave. I took one last look around and noticed a wedge of geese approaching from the west, descending toward the water. Maybe they were coming down from the Rockies, pausing here before continuing south.

Another quiet winter morning, wrapped in small moments - bare trees, distant mountains, and just enough movement to keep the lake alive.

Thanks ChatGPT for polishing my story :)

Photos taken on December 27, 2025.