The place where Cooksville Creek completes its journey into Lake Ontario is one of those easily overlooked spots—a place we pass by casually, moving with purpose, counting steps, and covering miles. I had done the same, many times, riding toward Port Credit, threading through a busy park-and-trail intersection, always in motion, always focused on the next stretch of the route. The bridge crossing the creek was just another mile marker, a fleeting glimpse in a ride that was about movement, not stillness.
Until one winter morning.
This time, I stopped. I pulled away from the main trail and followed a small woodland path down to the waterline. Stepping onto the sandbar—a form rivers and creeks take as they surrender to the lake—I was struck by the quietness of winter.
Gone was the summer chaos—the backyard grilling, the laughter from patios, the beachgoers, the fishermen, the restless movement of windsurfers and canoes. In its place, serenity. The cottages along the west bank stood silent, their backyards shuttered for the season. The park on the east bank was empty except for the occasional jogger or a pet owner hurrying back to the warmth of home. Even the marina, just beyond the outcrop, was still, boats hauled out and covered, waiting for spring.
Winter had taken over.
And with it, a different kind of magic.
A Moment of Light and Transformation
Just before the sun peeks over the lake horizon, the sky and clouds ignite with a slow-building palette of color. The calm water of the creek reflects the change, while the restless waves of the lake echo its growing energy. The sandbar stands as a boundary, dividing the fluid movement of water from the solid, rooted world of trees along the creek’s edge.
In this moment, our foundation—the land beneath our feet—is nothing more than a silhouette, a dark contrast against a sky that breathes color into the morning. For just a few minutes, everything is infused with warmth, movement, and possibility. And then, as suddenly as it appeared, the light fades behind cloud cover, dissolving into the flat grayness of a typical mid-winter day.
Capturing the Fleeting Energy of Winter Mornings
The creek winds its way through subdivisions and under arterial roads, eventually surrendering to the immense force of Lake Ontario—already empowered by the spirit of the other four Great Lakes. In the same way, the first rays of sunshine build energy, feeding into a moment of pure possibility, a glimpse of what the day, the season, and the months ahead might hold.
Photography, at its best, is about capturing these moments of transition, where fleeting light and movement negate our sense of permanence. On a winter morning at Cooksville Creek, there is no permanence—only the force of water, the dance of light, and the certainty that, for a brief moment, the world is alive with color.
Yes, winter days are cold. Yes, most of them are gray and uneventful.
But this morning, on the edge of the lake, was a reminder that there is always light, always movement, always something beyond the horizon.
You just have to look more closely.
And maybe, wake up a little earlier.
Technical Notes:
- Digital Capture with Nikon Zfc and Nikon Z 35mm 1.8 S Lens
- Processed using On1 software