Elora Market
There’s a giant standing on Mill Street. A sculpture: huge, stretched, dark figure bent at the waist. Hand on hip, the other jutting an accusing finger straight down at head height for a mortal. Otherwise featureless, menacing, vaguely parental. The plaque says something about a "village idiot."
Below sits an oddly dressed man, cross-legged, idly flipping a coin. He wears faded finery of a bygone era; battered boots, dusty riding pants laced up the sides, worn vest with faded brocade, crumpled felt hat sporting an ornate hatpin. The business end of the sculpture’s finger can’t quite draw a bead on the long red feather jutting from his hat.
At your approach, he corkscrews to his feet, snatches the coin from the top of its arc and beams at you. With a flourish, the coin spins again, high into the air. He raises his other hand idly, seeming not to look, and the coin lands across the tips of two outstretched fingers, impossibly failing to bounce.
"Ha!" he exclaims with a manic goggle, and takes two quick steps towards you, coin first. "You ever see anything like it?"
Fascination wars with that instinctive Canadian flinch. Your slightly stunned gaze travels from the madman’s enormous eyes to his precarious coin.
He brings his other hand up theatrically and dangles three fingers over the coin. Without him touching it, it leaps upright, standing vertically from his finger with no visible support. Is there something in his hand? You can’t quite see...
"Look at the bird! On the tail side, see, he’s taking off! You ever see a coin like that?"
In fact it’s a special edition 2008 Olympic coin, a "Loonie Rampant" - the wings are spread and spraying foam from the normally placid lake.
"Watch! Watch him take off."
The strange man lowers his dangling hand to the top of the coin, so it just touches his fingertips above and below. Pursing his lips, he blows gently, and the coin - incredibly - begins to spin!
He blows harder and it spins faster, until it fairly buzzes with his breath. He takes his upper hand away and the coin still spins! He holds it up to you, balanced on a fingertip, and meets your eyes. Still upright on one fingertip, the coin rotates gently to a stop between you.
"Joke for a buck?" He quirks an eyebrow, "You don’t laugh - you don’t pay!"
He grins with you as you laugh and fish for a coin.
~r
Below sits an oddly dressed man, cross-legged, idly flipping a coin. He wears faded finery of a bygone era; battered boots, dusty riding pants laced up the sides, worn vest with faded brocade, crumpled felt hat sporting an ornate hatpin. The business end of the sculpture’s finger can’t quite draw a bead on the long red feather jutting from his hat.
At your approach, he corkscrews to his feet, snatches the coin from the top of its arc and beams at you. With a flourish, the coin spins again, high into the air. He raises his other hand idly, seeming not to look, and the coin lands across the tips of two outstretched fingers, impossibly failing to bounce.
"Ha!" he exclaims with a manic goggle, and takes two quick steps towards you, coin first. "You ever see anything like it?"
Fascination wars with that instinctive Canadian flinch. Your slightly stunned gaze travels from the madman’s enormous eyes to his precarious coin.
He brings his other hand up theatrically and dangles three fingers over the coin. Without him touching it, it leaps upright, standing vertically from his finger with no visible support. Is there something in his hand? You can’t quite see...
"Look at the bird! On the tail side, see, he’s taking off! You ever see a coin like that?"
In fact it’s a special edition 2008 Olympic coin, a "Loonie Rampant" - the wings are spread and spraying foam from the normally placid lake.
"Watch! Watch him take off."
The strange man lowers his dangling hand to the top of the coin, so it just touches his fingertips above and below. Pursing his lips, he blows gently, and the coin - incredibly - begins to spin!
He blows harder and it spins faster, until it fairly buzzes with his breath. He takes his upper hand away and the coin still spins! He holds it up to you, balanced on a fingertip, and meets your eyes. Still upright on one fingertip, the coin rotates gently to a stop between you.
"Joke for a buck?" He quirks an eyebrow, "You don’t laugh - you don’t pay!"
He grins with you as you laugh and fish for a coin.
~r