The Lightness of Being
All over the island, the sun is out. Its in the yard, where the cat was prowling around and her dark fur became shot through with auburn. Its glittering off the ocean a short trek away. Sun is spangling the rotten apples that are fat and falling apart beneath my neighbour's tree- the dead songs of September.
Yesterday on campus people had rolled up sleeves and unzipped winter jackets. Exams are almost over. Most of my friends are heading "home"- taking ferries and then busses all the way into the heart of the Interior, or catching sky trains into great tall Vancouver, with its close buildings and seasonal hustle.
I'm going for a walk to the beach with my camera. I usually leave town in December, when the dark presses in on us and the long nights are quiet. This year, almost by accident, I am still here, only to be surprised by this week of daffodil light.
Welcome to my hosannah.
Yesterday on campus people had rolled up sleeves and unzipped winter jackets. Exams are almost over. Most of my friends are heading "home"- taking ferries and then busses all the way into the heart of the Interior, or catching sky trains into great tall Vancouver, with its close buildings and seasonal hustle.
I'm going for a walk to the beach with my camera. I usually leave town in December, when the dark presses in on us and the long nights are quiet. This year, almost by accident, I am still here, only to be surprised by this week of daffodil light.
Welcome to my hosannah.