These days

My fleeting moments of absolute peace are found very early in the morning, on my back porch, which looks over other backyards but which lies sideways to the other residential constructions so that there are no actual windows from other houses looking back at me in my housecoat, uncombed, with coffee mug and smoke.

Most mornings start between 5 and 6 a.m. The sky is still dark then, with only the faintest hint of less-than-black to indicate that day is about to begin.

All the birds I learned to identify in Gore are here. The white-throated sparrow doesn’t compete for attention, it sings pure and high as a soprano over the strident tootle of the blue jay, the thrilled burble of the wakening robin, the redneck caw of the crow. Through it all is the chipper dee-dee of the chickadee. Together, as the sky pales, they make a joyful and sweet sound in the air. The dull rush of the river is like a nearby air-conditioner.

Green lies in front, on the ground and in the trees of neighbouring yards. Someone before me planted a lilac in the yard, and verdant leaves are sprouting along the rotting fence. A single yellow tulip defies the black squirrels which slink here and there. I watch them go up and down trees, across the road, through yards, over branches and electrical wires, and pray they leave my tulip be. So far, so good.

Evenings, I go down to the riverside, but not often enough. The riverbanks, sloping down from the road which is thankfully much less busy than where I lived before, are an instant cure for whatever urban ails one might have. I pick my way down the beaten dirt path, using a long stick to scoop manmade refuse into my garbage bag: sodden plastic grocery bags with a few mouldy dog turds in the bottom, flattened plastic bottles, bits of Styrofoam. The water laps unceasingly at the rocky shoreline, reminding me of the lake in Ayer’s Cliff.

I sit above the river, which runs swift and cold toward the violent dam gates a few hundred yards further, and hope I never fall or jump in. Small scuttling sounds signal woodland life behind my back.

The sun is long gone when I walk back up the path, reluctantly.