Of the things that leave one.

There are those moments where you are less aware of the changes, they happen slowly and resound in a way that takes so long to echo they could easily be considered a different sort of sound completely, by the time they fall back and are noticed.

And then, the instances where the change is undeniably present, like a visitor at the dinner table ready for seconds, watching. They aren't necessarily an unwelcome visitor either, or a rude or obnoxious sort, but perhaps their overall countenance reminds one of the melancholic moments of childhood. A sadness pervades their being so that the others present cannot help but feel its heart-heavy pull.

To the heart-strings of all who have gone through this, are going through it, will go through it. To all of us then, as it is a story and a visit received by most. That we can honour who or what that guest represents and has represented, and that we can graciously walk through these changes not unscathed, but wiser, and with an appreciation of the hues they leave including the bright merry ones, including the more dissonant, difficult shades.

In less than a week...

I won't actually have a computer anymore. It's going to be pretty interesting, I admit, and a huge adjustment. I only first got a personal computer about 5 or 6 years ago now, but ever since they've been a really big part of my everyday motions and rumblings in the world.

However scared I am (which says volumes in and of itself) of feeling like I will loose touch with the world and its goings and comings (I don't have any sort of portable phone device to fall back on, either) I must admit that I am very excited about it all, too. I think it's going to be an amazing re-introduction to spending more time *being* in my immediate environment, and noticing the goings and comings of what's around me directly, and not through a computer screen.

And I will still write blogs, I'll just have to do so by hand and then transcribe them once a week in the library or some such. But I think I will start writing more letters, to everyone, again. So check your mailbox soon. I am on my way.

When things grow

Got home tonight after a jaunt to the massive St Jean Baptiste party under that bridge, you know the one, (at least you do if you live in Montreal) and was called by the garden to come spend time before going into the house.

In the dark things grow, double-in-size, and spread their limbs and hopes over and around the sticks we plant to keep them somewhat-in-line, somehow-in-check, loved. The tomatoes are actually hanging low to the ground, their new sizes proving too much for the stakes they were using as training wheels. The coriander is hiding the ever timid sage and dill has appeared from seemingly nowhere.

And I find my hair, which is growing some too, has decided to be curly out of allegiance or spite to the weather, or perhaps both. It has a complacency with the night vegetables that turn and curl into plants I don't recognize, but welcome none-the-less.