Peepers, Star Light, and Sewers

 

I have spent my life divided between the country and the city. Like those mice we all read about as children. A fedora and vintage heels, an aimless walk through the ivy cloaked alleyways of Toronto, ethnic neighbourhood diversity, world music in a dive bar, living on a block that shares its beat with Koreans, Greeks, Ethiopians, Italians, and Peruvians. My grocery store is a veritable global food bank. The owners are Koreans who speak Spanish. That said, my favourite moments in the city are the silent ones. Winter is the best season in Toronto. Everything is illuminated but there is no echo. Summer is dreadful. The streets, slick with green bin acrid juices, smell like a sewer. A car pulsating with music and spraying exhaust in its wake is multiplied into a million clones and strewn across the entire city. Sure, there are parades and festivals and events. But there's nothing passively reflective about them. For an introvert, summer in the city can be debilitating.

I have experienced rural living a handful of times. And they were magical times. One of my favourite books, "Stalking the Wild Asparagus", has the most charming author bio I've read - amongst the many things Euell Gibbons has accomplished in his life, the one that smacked my senses upside down was the inclusion of the term 'hobo'. A man who wanders the land in search of edible things to feed his family has his finger on the pulse of life, for it's survival he's after. Nothing goes unnoticed. Everything means something else. The way a leaf curls can indicate weather changes to come. Everything is singular, because in spring, life is fragile and fleeting. There are small windows to forage wild leeks. The ground cover changes and overtakes small growth almost cannibalistically. A wild grove of daffodils gently waves in the early morning breeze grazing the fresh carcass of a baby deer alongside the rhythmic trickle of spring water flowing down the mountain. Everything is fragile and fleeting. Joyful and tragic.

On Saturday, walking along the Humber river, we came upon several adult Canadian Geese and about 12 fluffy goslings. Simon went wading into the river out of curiosity and a Goose swept up, spread its wings, and came rushing forth sideswiping its wing across the water, spraying Simon in the face and sending him back to shore. Impressive. We walked into the grove of forest the runs along the eastern side of the river and came across a lone young deer. City life.

On Sunday, north of the city, near Creemore, Ontario, the Bruce Trail wends it way through the incredible topography of the escarpment. Tiny yellow and purple violets cover the forest floor. Ferns unfurl in the marshes. The wild leeks and the trilliums near the end of their brief existence. The peepers start to quiet. A dead mole is on the trail. Simon learns to navigate a river's current. All is good in the world in a moment's reflection

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Comments

[J Voltz]

Excellent post. I enjoyed reading your blog and the posts I thought it was very interesting and will return

[J Voltz]

Excellent post. I enjoyed reading your blog and the posts I thought it was very interesting and will return

[J Voltz]

Excellent post. I enjoyed reading your blog and the posts I thought it was very interesting and will return

[Mats Flemstrom]

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