Acacias turning whole streets golden, as if the light were filtered through honey lenses.
Big waves at Port Credit on a windy day. The improbable encounter with the smell of decomposing weeds, sand, and broken shells on a lakeshore. The illusion of being back by the Black Sea, for a fraction of a second.
Layered clouds. First white, then pink, then blue, the filtered after storm sun rays that alter nuances ever so quickly no lense is fast enough to catch the exact combination that stopped you in your tracks.
8 Mile Lake
The sound of dewdrops sliding off old pine leaves and touching the surface of the 8 Mile Lake one early morning, while everything else stands completely still. The tiny ripples spreading quietly, as if to not disturb the peace.
Fresh coffee smell and the warmth of the house, embracing you in the hallway, one crispy sunny December morning after you left the kids at school. The promise that morning holds, that it is going to be a good day, a day that will allow you to bathe in sunlight and silence, with no deadlines biting the back of your head.
The first notes of the Emperor concerto, waking up teenagers and little kids at 10.00 a.m sharp every day in the Morning Glory cottage, by Clear lake. The moans and groans of the three sleepyheads, begging for the music to stop.
The blue sky and the sunlight adding a bit of shine to all the fall’s colors on Lakeshore East and a 15 yo saying “Today I love life”, while cuddling a brown ball of fur and teeth also known as Charlie. The next 10 minutes of a terrible storm, drenching everybody while we ran to the car. Sun coming out again, and the same incredible blue sky, clearing the very moment we get to the car. People saying hi as they pass you by. Do you know that person, mom? No, kid. They’re just being polite. They smile and they say hi. Do the same.