Late afternoon my bike takes me across the city. I wonder how we
fashion our lives, these brilliant disorders, these fine, inspired errors when
– look – the future is utterly implicit in the present, the present is the logical outcome
Of all points in the past, and that building going up across the
street has been going up forever. Everything we do now contains the
seeds of its own unfolding. The bridge eases over the deep ravine.
Something tells me:
You will never do anything more vital, more profound, more perfect or more
Necessary than what you are doing right now.
Today has been Friday, that was its name – Friday – and the
Sunlight at Sherbourne and Bloor completes the city.
- Gwendolyn MacEwen
... and you would not be found. Every time I walked away I promised to be back and suddenly here we are. Packing boxes and picking ourselves off the floor. Holding the things that encapsulate so many years, so many you. So many me. This time whatever is left behind is deliberate, not casualty. The only collateral damage is a weekend of delirium and 15 hours darkness and memories. Remember Josie? When you were locked in the bathroom crying feeling hopelessly stupid because you couldn't force sound & meaning out of the words on the page (it's only a children's story book -為什麼, 妳為什麼不會？）. you couldn't see as far as today. All the times you wanted to go home too, and you have now. So it seems that the old adage was true after all: you will be alright.