Sunday

A soft misty Sunday - pale and washed-out, slightly dreamy around the edges.

I am wandering around mouldering stones and towering monuments. The scent of cedars in the damp. I chirp back at the chicakdees that perch low to check me out.

General Brock is up there on top of his column - ah, but he is at the bottom of it as well.  Makes for easier conversation - one doesn't have to shout.

Wide Canadian vistas. Warm English lunch.  It feels like There; it feels like Home.  It feels like Both and None and like they are the Same but Not and this makes total Sense and NonSense both at the same time.

Rocks and water and magnolias that remind me of stars.

 

                     

Cherry blossoms. Twisty roots.  Orchards of white and pink that go on and on.

This is what I need.  This and a few choice mineral specimens that have passed over the Falls and have made their way down here to the Lake.  Oh, and a ginger molasses cookie.

I've been up here so many times.  So many things were different then; are different now.  And, you know?  it's all OK.  I will be back.