In Training

On a recent train trip to Halifax there were panoramic views to behold.

In the train yard, pulling out of Moncton:

Boxy.  Linear.  Gritty.  Unkempt.  

Like some men I've known.

(not really!  I just threw that in to see if you're paying attention)

The Tantramar Marsh, tidal saltwater mudpit 

and wild fowl habitat,

between New Brunswick and Nova Scotia.

The marshland is an east coast watery version of the prairies with its flatness and big skies.

This is where they grow school buses, 

as yellow as dandelions.

And here are messengers of the future, waving their arms in their own mysterious semaphore.

Next stop:  Halifax.

Shopping for a Miracle on Main Street

That time of year or that season of life?

Not quite warm enough to enjoy a beer outside.

Not quite cold enough to bring in the sidewalk furniture.

But definitely the right temperature to be in a mood, to want to be somewhere else, to be moving, to leave it all behind and start over. 

Or is it time to accept what is, to dig in even deeper, to relinquish the mobility of dreams and hunker down for the long haul.

It's the season of vague but pervasive melancholy, of antsiness, of general dissatisfaction.

Yes, it's that season of life. 

And yet, there is an underlying sense of well-being, of comfort, of acceptance and gratitude; of revelling in the crisp change in the air, the russet colours that are just beginning to singe the green world; the settling down and the settling in. 

Longing for what isn't--yearning for what could be--acceptance of what is--being well in the moment. 

Push and pull.  Yin and yang.

Welcome to my world.