We walked along the unused tracks of the Don Valley about a dozen times. We walked along Woodbine beach, the Humber River and the Mimico waterfront. We walked among the relics at Guild Park and among the mansions of Rosedale. We walked through dozens of the city’s parks, beaches and ravines. We walked when the sun shone, and we walked when the rain came down. The children often tracked their steps –– three thousand, four thousand, five thousand –- and if the shops were open, we’d stop for an ice cream. We’d talk, we’d sing, we’d imagine which house we’d want to live in. And sometimes, we’d walk in silence; good silence, awkward silence, the silence you can cut with a knife. Our walks were how we connected with a city in lockdown and how we stayed close to nature, to ourselves and to each other. These days, we walk much less frequently. The children are reluctant; they’d rather play with their friends. Occasionally though, I’ll think about our walks, how quiet the city was, and how much of it we discovered.