Tuesday, June 15, 2010

At the End of the Day

The sun has just about set. The birds are almost quiet. I'm sure the cats are stalking something with four legs.
I'm heading out for a walk. The breeze is settled. It's one of my favourite times of day.

At the end of the day

I've now lived on the gravel road for 16 years. Seems like a long time.

The farm and the gravel road are home. The city-any city- would be,too- if I lived there. But I live here. I take much of this as given, now, though. I'm about to go for a walk as the sun sets and it gets dark. Alone. On a gravel road. (Cue scary music! ha) When I walk I hear the evening song of the birds, the frogs' song and, soon, will be able to smell and listen to the corn grow. If a car drives by, it will be A car, not a constant stream. If I hear voices, it will be because the sound is carrying across a field. If I hear traffic, it will be the white noise that drifts north from the 401. But it's pretty still tonight, so maybe no traffic.

I can't go to the corner Starbucks with a book and watch the people walk along Richmond Row. Have to make my own. I can't pass a group of friends I haven't seen for awhile and stop and get caught up. Have to call. I can't take a different route, because there's only left and right out of the driveway and there are only so may ways I can walk before I have to pass a dog whose personality I am not sure of, and so, avoid. Have to notice the small changes in the fields or the sky or the road underfoot.

I suppose this is what city people think when they pine for the country. They can't live a car free life, or walk to work or school, but they can walk a gravel road, at night, alone.