Being with Bren

Brenna went along on my first appointment with Luke, a trip to the public library. He chatted endlessly on the way downtown in the car, then fell silent and hardly said another word for the next hour. He found a book to absorb him, so Brenna and I did the same. His mother says he is shy at first. Also, she can obtain enough funds to hire me for up to five hours a week until March! But I ought to warn her about the other job coming up. If I start working full-time after Christmas, I would be unable to continue with Luke, so getting attached to me now might not be in his best interest.

After dropping him off, the busy day turned into a busy evening. Brenna and I came home for dinner, went back downtown, dropped by OOTS to chat with the people, then attended a performance by an improv drama group my friend Laura has joined, aand finally returned home to watch a movie before bed.

This evening we'll drive to Toronto to attend the opening of Robyn's art exhibition, Fashion Phantom, at M-ONE-11, 561 Queen St. W. We'll meet Danny beforehand, and anyone else is welcome to join us. It runs from 7 to 10. The three of us—Brenna, Danny and me—will return to Guelph to sleep.

Tomorrow my parents will take us to lunch at the Stone Crock in St. Jacobs. This came about with remarkable spontaneity. On the phone with Mom yesterday she suggested it, and when I mentioned Danny would be with us she didn't balk. She has avoided getting to know the men I've dated, and my parents have only met Danny for a few minutes once, almost by accident. But he has stuck around and is good for me, and Mom probably realizes that. What they don't know—and I'm not prepared to explain—is that we're polyamorous. I hate hiding things, so I'm uncomfortable about tomorrow. It's strange really: I've been half hiding him from them. All the men before—those wrong ones—I thrust upon them. Perhaps I was looking for approbation, but I don't need anyone to approve of Danny.

Things have been happening in a whirlwind lately. I never have more than an hour or two to sit still. Shouldn't this drive me crazy? It's not, at the moment.

I am carried back to some quiet moments with Brenna on Thanksgiving weekend. On the gorgeous Saturday afternoon, Brenna, Dad and I hiked to Poverty Lake, a smaller one that drains into Fletcher. I'd never gone there before. Just as we arrived, a white bird glided over the sapphire waters, much too large for a seagull. Could it have been a migrating swan? That would have been unprecedented. Unfortunately we didn't have binoculars, and observed it less than 10 seconds before it disappeared beyond a point of land.

How odd it was to have a strange new vista open so close to the place I consider my spiritual home. There I took the photo of Brenna with her umbrella.

The other was taken in a magical place little more than a stone's throw behind the cottage. A swamp backs onto a granite mountain of 20 metres, maybe higher. Mosquitoes make the woods there impassable most of the year, but it's pleasant in autumn and early spring. The space at the foot faces north: deep, dark and verdant, littered with monstrous fallen trunks. A few ferns grow there. We climbed to the top one morning that weekend—Brenna going straight up the rugged face, me edging around it. It's crowned by a grove of hemlocks, and I was relieved to find the wind storm in late September hadn't devastated it. Under the airy canopy, the floor is densely cushioned with mosses and lichens. Windows between the trees offer faraway glimpses of the blue lake, spreading among fiery maples. We sat there a little while, and I took the second photo.

These moments of stillness are becoming precious.