Happy Valentine's Day

 

 

Angel,

Happy Valentine's Day.

You have my heart - always.

Just me.

Those Days...

To The Lady on the Train,

It is on those days that it seems that the whole city is holding its breath, waiting for the storm to come that we have been warned about...

It is on those days that when the winds and cold and rains and snow and hail and whatever other torment awaits us, finally arrives....

It is on those days that the breeze is warm and calm, and the sun squints our eyes to its beauty...

It is on those days where the city is stifled in heat and humidity and air seems like a rare commodity...

It is on those days where the sun rises early, or late...

It is on those days that are rainy or dry..

It is on those days that are cloudy or clear, windy or still, warm or frigid..

It is on those days that I would rather be curled up with you.

From The Man in the Station

Victoria Park and Eglinton...

Angel,

This city sits on a fat lip of fertile earth scraped off the ancient shield rock to the north by the last ice age. The receding glaciers leaving behind water, earth and a changed landscape. Our Great Lakes formed by time and forces the scale or which we cannot fathom except in dreams now anchor life to its shores. 

This place is ancient but this city is young. It is stone, steel, and glass rising up among the rolling hills and up from the valleys. We have buried hundreds of small tributaries that used to lead down to the lake and paved them over so that only a careful eye can tell where they once ran. We have dig deep into the soft layers of earth to find foundations for the skyscrapers that mold the skyline. All the displaced earth made into a protective spit. The spit protects the harbour from winter storms and provides sanctuary for migrating birds having to cross the expanse of the lake. We have formed this place as much as it forms us. We are the new glaciers - moving land and water - only we work much faster.  

‎In the heart of the city we have blotted the sun and shrunk the sky to blue strips between buildings. It isn’t until you leave downtown and get up onto the shoulders of the land, in the suburbs that ring the city, where you can see big sky. 

‎To the northeast, on a bald head of a street corner the sky is a grand expanse. Here,  the world feels tall and wide. Distance has turned downtown into grey - blue Legoscape sitting in a hollow of land between the last two rivers, the Humber and the Don.  You can see a horizon and imagine what may lie beyond it. Moving clouds, rippled like the roof of a dogs mouth, scatter the sun's dying rays as it slips below the western edge of sight. 

Streetlights come on as the wind kicks up cold again. There will be an exodus of cars and trains as people make their way home from work. And the city sighs it's way into a winter night. 

Just me.

March morning...

Angel,

It is early March and it has been a record breaking winter of ice, snow and freezing temperatures. People are becoming as bitter as the north wind that has rarely left us since November. In the dark of the early morning we warm our cars or huddle around bus and streetcar stops - we trudge through the fresh fallen snow - bundled and bowed, stomping our feet for warmth. 

It snows large soft flakes that float straight down on this windless morning. The city is once again under a thin blanket of white.  It quiets sounds - even muffling the grind of the steel streetcar wheels. ‎ People whisper in hushed tones. Something hangs in the air that we do not wish to disturb.

On this city street corner, under the glow of the lights , our world is transferred into a snow globe. Even this late in the winter and weary of the cold, the snow brings wonder and magic. The few of us in the dark and cold turn our faces to the sky and marvel. It is beautiful. We are held by the marvel of it. 

It feels like the first snow and all the joy that brings.... perhaps because this may be the last snow... perhaps the magic is in the turning of the seasons - and we sense it in our bones. 

Just me.