Hard, so hard to write about death when rebirth surrounds me. “The Death of the Blog,”
might be an apt title for this newest posting, noting my wordless presence during these past few weeks.
But today is overcast and the weeds are already picked. Grey skies scatter starlings. Blue jays and cardinals, dipped in shades of summer, hide in this freshest explosion of green outside my office window. I am less distracted. I am able to write.
But death, death steps onto the stage of my day like an unsteady ballet dancer stumbling over shadows. Life calls! The next performance.
I have been on holiday. Welcoming spring from New York and then welcoming it a bit longer with visiting friends in Toronto: Lucy from the Yukon, Claire from Nelson, and Pat from Vancouver. We spent the week together, even shivering one day
from the spray of Niagara Falls. Like a tourist, I took the Maid of the Mist for the first time.
On dry land later, with Lucy beside, I leaned across a rock and watched a turtle snooze while swallowtails landed on her checkered shell. Like me, this turtle enjoys her long, calm, sometimes rather dull life.
Barely a breath or swish of that pokey-out tail to mark it. And then: she opens her eyes!
Last week, after friends boarded airplanes goodbye goodbye I house-sat on Ward’s Island, in the Toronto harbour, for another friend, Nancy. I dined at the Queen City Yacht Club, and counted sail boats, cruisers, and kayaks from my deck chair.
I watched jumping fish then hungry fishers stretch their reels.
With a chill and a gasp I saw city lights from away spray colour across the still water. The CN tower kept its eye on me.
I have taken a holiday from death and plan to take several more. While I can.