It is fall in Winnipeg, and the air carries that crispness that comes just before the cold settles in for good. The trees are slowly shifting from deep greens to bright yellows and warm oranges, their colours mirrored in the puddles and along the edges of sidewalks. The change feels both sudden and slow, as if the season is reminding us to pause and notice the beauty in transition.
Today the city is quiet. On National Truth and Reconciliation Day, the usual hum of traffic and bustle of downtown life has softened. Streets that are often crowded stand nearly still, and the silence feels heavy with reflection. It is not an ordinary holiday, but a day marked by memory, by acknowledgment, and by the weight of histories that cannot be overlooked.
Even the parking lots tell the story of the day. Empty rows of asphalt stretch out in front of shuttered offices and closed shops, adding to the stillness that hangs over the city. With fewer distractions, the landscape itself becomes more visible—the turning leaves, the quiet streets, the empty spaces. It is as though the city has stepped back to listen, making room for remembrance.
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