It was beautiful to see the patience a young child can have despite his age, his anticipation and yet, he managed it with eloquence. For a few years he would be so happy to see my cat at home so he could pet her, hold her and perhaps even play with her. The attempts were always short-lived and he would leave discouraged, certain that this picky feline did not like him. Try as I might to explain her fickleness was part of her personality and that in time if she saw him more often, she would certainly come around. And come around she did this week.
Since he slept in “her” spot, I was actually surprised that she was drawn to him instead of being jealous but no, she totally drew closer and his patience certainly paid off. To see him beaming when he started petting her…that she allowed him to even touch her was magical to see.
I had spent a very brief visit with my family in Toronto last summer after a four-day retreat. I always look forward to the long ride returning home to Montreal. It gives me time to adjust to the change of places and reminisce of things I did, people I saw and the life I once had here. I had time to think of my new personal mantra I was given which I could practice for over four hours and how much a part of my heart is still in this city I once called home.
Settling by the window, I allowed the train to rock me like a lullaby…chug chug chug…eyes focused on the city we are crossing, up above on elevated tracks…I am on top of the world and once we are further out, buildings become scarce. Kilometres of meadows, farms and the occasional crossings in smaller villages flash by…my eyes begin to feel so very heavy. I am sitting on the opposite side I usually sit for Lake Ontario is on the other side. I will be noticing a different view on this trip.
I see fields and fields of tall grass as it is time for the first harvest of hay. As we sped by I saw stacked bales of hay each farmer displaying his own mark…some tight round bales, some bales shaped like huge barrels and some square blocks. From the train they looked like mounds of hay or straw plants or shrubs.
The loud echo of the train’s whistle at some crossings roused me and I admired the sky changing colours as the sun began to set…the man across from me gave in to the lullaby but I am still like a little child fighting sleep always, in the event I just might miss something.
rocking on steel rods
fields flashing on fast-forward
a man snores
marking the end
she flies up above the clouds
hail of a prelude
a dove joins them in the heavens
angels, our guides from above
marque de la fin
elle vole au dessus des nuages
éloge d’un prélude
une colombe les rejoignent dans le ciel
les anges, nos guides de là-haut
Many farmers give directions very differently than city people are accustomed to. Living in a very small town we would chuckle a bit when asking for directions when looking for directions to get the best sweet corn or my favourite apples that were usually the first category that came out early in the season…Lobo of course, juicy and tart they made your lips pucker.
Directions were often turn left at the red silo and at the fork keep to your right until you get to the Old School House make a sharp left behind the speed limit sign…careful now, you might miss it if you are admiring that old school…city folks are always dazzled by that plain old building. Now keep on going until you get to the Willow Tree. If your windows are open you should smell the lavender field just over the hill. Across the road a fair bit, Fontaine’s tractor should be parked with his trailer full of fresh picked corn of the morning and the afternoon if you come by before supper.
Our host has given us one last haiku by Richard Wright:
This is to inspire us to write in that same tone…the blossoms made me think of various scents of certain trees and plants blossoming. How fitting to include the poignant and soothing scent of lavender!
I have included a link here, describing Mr. Pellerin’s story on how he started his venture in the largest lavender farm, Bleu Lavande, in Canada and second largest in North America. I find his story fascinating. His farm is situated in the Eastern Townships about an hour and half drive from Montreal.
passed the Willow tree just over the hill, explosion of lavender
December 23rd, the temperatures rose over 10 degrees Celsius. It was springtime weather at the end of December. Two days of rain cleaned the streets, sullied snow banks and melted most of the snow. Makes it doubly hard for half-doubters..one of my three grandsons… to still believe but painstaking stories, Crosby’s songs and want-to-believe children makes it still happen…one more year.
born from melted snow