The colours of Banff

Soft gray mist smothering the mountains in a sultry embrace lifts, as Snow, whitest among white, flings herself on the city with joyful abandon. Sombre trees, white beards overnight, flutter in the chill breeze like an olive green curtain, occasionally revealing delicious wine-red leaves which sparkle regally in the sunlight of the setting sun like dark rubies. The mountains close by are a colorless khaki with snow generously dusted upon, rather like icing sugar on the pudding of a person with too sweet a tooth. The mountains further away are a glacial picture-postcard bluish white, that colour of majestic silence before which sound quails.

The town is dainty with houses in gingerbread brown placed amidst carelessly scattered golden trees and violet bushes and meticulously placed sign boards around every corner. The Bow river runs across and staying true to its name, wraps the city with a shining ribbon of water. I stand on a wobbly wooden bridge watching the water, a brilliant electric blue, swirl underneath as the sun sets yonder, casting an amber halo behind the snowy peaks. The moon, a thin crescent, quietly rises as the city’s night-lights come to life.

The day ends, but the colours remain. Some in my photographs, some in my words, but most in my memory.

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