I watched a gardener blow leaves this morning. The leaves didn't care that his livelihood depended on them co-operating. They swirled up to ten times his height, at least.
A little girl at the bus stop was dancing in the swirls of leaves, like confetti all around her.
The gardener took refuge from the elements, under the offending tree for a while. His friend greeted him from a bicycle passing by.
The girl tried to throw some leaves at her adults, who were on their phones, but the leaves just blew back at her. She sat with them for a while, then returned to her pile of leaves, her playmates. Her adult got up and took a photo of her. There is hope.
The gardener engages with tourists, then leaves his leaves.
We drove to the Olive Garden again, with the car stereo blasting, the four passengers singing at the top of their lungs, the windows open, the air of the Niagara river blowing in. The river is like none I've ever seen. It's like a lake or the sea. It's so windy, there are white heads on it.
Hard Rock Cafe brought me happiness. I was looking for vegetables for dinner, not salad, veg! They had corn on the cob. They also had great music playing. What more could a girl ask for? I thought of the times we ate at the Toronto one, as a family. I remember seeing Rob Ford outside the last time we went together. I didn't realize he was so tall. Things that are hidden from us because of our stuff, like being so burdened by our problems that I couldn't fully enjoy our time there.
It's so good to have the time to see myself more clearly and see that most, if not all, of the stuff that worries me, is bollox!
I had to visit the falls again, to say goodbye to the waters that feels like a friend. I saw a family that I saw last night. The father walked through the crowd, straight, shoulders back. I searched for anyone else who carried themselves like he did. I found no one. Everyone paled. The story that happened in my head was that he didn't give a shit about other's expectations. He did his best to do the right thing, no matter how hard, and he was as neighbourly as he could be. He and his family was untamed. I stared and everything was quiet inside. I felt reverence, like with the river.
Tomorrow, we drive to the big apple. Google says six and a half hours. We are already checked out of our room, which is number 416, the area code for Toronto. Home from home. Quality Hotel on First Street has been good to us.
Onwards we go early tomorrow, into the heart of Turtle Island!
A little girl at the bus stop was dancing in the swirls of leaves, like confetti all around her.
The gardener took refuge from the elements, under the offending tree for a while. His friend greeted him from a bicycle passing by.
The girl tried to throw some leaves at her adults, who were on their phones, but the leaves just blew back at her. She sat with them for a while, then returned to her pile of leaves, her playmates. Her adult got up and took a photo of her. There is hope.
The gardener engages with tourists, then leaves his leaves.
We drove to the Olive Garden again, with the car stereo blasting, the four passengers singing at the top of their lungs, the windows open, the air of the Niagara river blowing in. The river is like none I've ever seen. It's like a lake or the sea. It's so windy, there are white heads on it.
Hard Rock Cafe brought me happiness. I was looking for vegetables for dinner, not salad, veg! They had corn on the cob. They also had great music playing. What more could a girl ask for? I thought of the times we ate at the Toronto one, as a family. I remember seeing Rob Ford outside the last time we went together. I didn't realize he was so tall. Things that are hidden from us because of our stuff, like being so burdened by our problems that I couldn't fully enjoy our time there.
It's so good to have the time to see myself more clearly and see that most, if not all, of the stuff that worries me, is bollox!
I had to visit the falls again, to say goodbye to the waters that feels like a friend. I saw a family that I saw last night. The father walked through the crowd, straight, shoulders back. I searched for anyone else who carried themselves like he did. I found no one. Everyone paled. The story that happened in my head was that he didn't give a shit about other's expectations. He did his best to do the right thing, no matter how hard, and he was as neighbourly as he could be. He and his family was untamed. I stared and everything was quiet inside. I felt reverence, like with the river.
Tomorrow, we drive to the big apple. Google says six and a half hours. We are already checked out of our room, which is number 416, the area code for Toronto. Home from home. Quality Hotel on First Street has been good to us.
Onwards we go early tomorrow, into the heart of Turtle Island!
Comments
Post a Comment