A High Park afternoon

Amelanchier arborea, serviceberry





Canada geese


Tuesday afternoon I explored the circumference of High Park. Down the west ravine, the wail of spring toads drew me to Grenadier Pond.

A black-crowned night heron arose with a croak and glided away. From behind I saw two white hindneck plumes trailing down its black back between white wings. Toronto harbour is an excellent place to spot these elegant birds. An American bittern retreated to distant cattails. A lone cormorant kept diving, reappearing and fluttering water across its back.

I had just finished admiring this goose family when the parents started honking and sprinted across the grass, goslings in tow. A grey Weimaraner hurtled after them. I darted to prevent slaughter, but the birds reached safety.

The owner, a female jogger, yelled at me, "He wouldn't have done anything!"

"Well I was just making sure," I replied.

She retorted indignantly.

It was a leash-only area.

As a child I was punished with isolation for expressing anger. I still can hardly feel it without fear of retribution. Holding it in, I quickly grow weary of tempestuous thoughts repeating themselves.

I followed The Queensway eastward, then threaded back through hilly woodlands to Bloor Street. The sun drowsed behind a sweaty sky.


( +1 )

Extremity?

( Some like it memish )