Alive in the City

I have returned from the great white north.  

 

Walking the streets of Toronto this weekend, either alone or with Loren was decidedly a blast.  On both days there I walked through new neighborhoods. These were places I did not have any familiarity with and some of them were quite nice.  Strolling through a row of connected parks surrounded by seven storey buildings made me think that I was more made for urban that suburban living. I walked almost 10 miles on Saturday from a brewery to a weekend market to all sorts of stores that sold every single thing under the sun.

 

There is a joy in having the freedom to pass from place to place unknown making a new impression on each person you meet.  A city is a wonderful place for a gregarious person.  Soon I will just be an invisible old man but right now I could spend a couple years in a little efficiency apartment in the section of Toronto called the Annex, brownstones with second floor porches and stained glass windows.  I would love to spend the early morning having dark rich coffee and eating croissants from the local bakery smothered with orange marmalade.  Then I would write for two hours straight.  A brisk walk to see what was about and going would follow Next I would have a light lunch of summer sausage and fresh fruits and vegetables.  Then more writing would follow.  Finally in the evening I would be at a film or a concert.

 

Time is short.  I probably won’t ever get moment like these.  Still, I can dream upon paper of a world I would love.

Walking into Health/Walking into a Storm

Every day for several weeks I have been walking into work.  My ritual as it has now become is part of the “make the best of these later years” campaign.  As part of the campaign each week on Sunday mornings I go to Weight Watchers.  More often than not I am losing weight.  As of last week it was twenty five pounds down.  Some strategies do have positive results.  In reality once the first 10 days passed I was not missing my daily candy bar or M&Ms.

Routing for my walk is simple.  Each day I take the neighborhood streets insofar as I can.  I grab photographs of the flowers that are starting to come into season.  I take a daily picture of a construction site; the time lapsed movie of it is rather fun.  I turn on my iPhone and set it upside down in my shirt pocket and listen to tunes.  Headphones are out due to hearing loss from one too many rock and roll concerts.  My eyes scan for the odd and the unusual.  Today I notice somebody is using the wrought iron head and footboards of a twin bed as trellises for Morning Glories; odd but kind of cute.

There is only about a five block stretch I have to walk on a main thoroughfare.  If I have remembered to bring a plastic bag I pick up empty water, energy drink and juice containers.  With no deposit required on these there sure are a great number of them abandoned along the way. 

About a block from my office I started into a cross walk.  There was a car coming down Highland and it was an old beige Buick.  It was at least four car lengths from the stop.  I started across.  The driving despite having plenty of time to slow and stop made it a point of screeching to a stop.  His driver side window was down.  He called me a mother*cker and then began a bit of a tirade.  I looked to see if it was someone I knew and if this rant was just a social greeting.  Neither of these potential facts were the actual case.

As I finished crossing the street the vehicle the vehicle accelerated and the driver threw out one more epithet calling me a piece of poo.  He actually rolled down the passenger side window to do this.  Well, I raised my middle finger in salute to such exemplary behavior.  I also lost my cool and referred to him as a human fluid receptacle.  He sped away, but I felt guilty.

This man made me lose my cool.  I reacted in anger and not compassion.  I don’t know what his urgency was, and whether there was any urgency at all. There were no cars on either street to speak of. Maybe he knew me and didn’t like me before he got to the stop. My incursion into his path may have allowed him to vent things he thought about me before he ever saw me today. Whatever the genesis, my response was wrong.  I am therefore apologizing to you my readers because he is long gone down the highway.  In life things will go sideways through no fault of our own.  Our compassion and understanding will usually be the best course.  So it goes.

Mist

North Country mists are common as a copper penny,

If the snow has stopped

and if the sky is not threatening tornados with torrents and lightening, 

Well then, the weather gives us mist.

 

Never be deterred by a hazy spray 

Spring or summer solitary walking in a gentle rain is a meditation.

In the dog days, the gentle moisture cools the heat.

In the spring the tiny almost unseen droplets perceptibly transform brown dormant things to green lush life.

Mist falling drives the weak and weary people from the streets, sidewalks, side yards and driveways leaving one to one’s own thoughts and perceptions.

 

All the contrivances of humanity, gutters and flashings, drainpipes, rain barrels and sewer grates,

Are made known in the mist.

The work of human hands is futile against nature,

Rain will find the earth.

 

Falling quietly almost silently you hear the collecting water 

At critical mass the liquid tings and gurgles and makes that slow sliding sound as it reaches the end of a downspout, 

The mist is seeking the earth,

The mist seeking the moment of cleansing and rebirth.

 

Mist so common in the North Country,

Shows us human folly,

Shows us natural healing,

Observe and absorb.