Walking high.

I'm in lovely Canada ...



(I took the above photo just after crossing the border 3 days ago).

I'm in Pickering, Ontario, to be exact, which is approximately 23 miles/37 km east of Toronto  - see red star below.

And I went for an unexpectedly long walk this morning, nearly down to Lake Ontario, which was a mere 5 or 6 additional blocks and is, when you're standing on it's beach, (you are sure) the size of any ocean.  Rather than walk there however, I opted instead to take a side street to a little inlet park overlooking Frenchman's Bay, and on the way I heard this squawking noise which I recognized to be seagulls, which is always a lovely, highly evocative sound to my ears - reminding me of when I lived in downtown Portland with a bay window that overlooked a seagull landing strip/watering hole on the next rooftop.

Anyway, the squawking seemed especially vigorous, until I realized it wasn't seagulls, it was, fittingly ... big, fat Canadian geese, a few of which, as I approached the water, began swooping gracefully right in front of me with those lovely low skimming dives, their beaks opening as they barked out their song-squawks.  Two of them in particular chased and dove and and cut over in perfect symmetry and it was pretty damned cool to see at semi close range and with nobody else around - the little park overlooking the bay was stone empty on this beautiful bright spring morn.

Okay, but I want to mention before I get to the main point of this post, that on the way there I passed what I hadn't previously known was there because I've only ever driven in this neighborhood - a tiny cemetary which is possibly Fairport Cemetery, inside which contained only maybe 20 graves - most of which were set oddly far back from the road with nothing but an expanse of grass in between.  I gather this is because the church possibly sat on the land in front, which from what I've just read was torn down in '75.  Anyway, the first two graves were of the Allison family - odd last name - and both had engraved on them:  "Goodnight.  God bless.  See you in the morning" ...

... which was just, wow, kind of sweet.  (The seagull was made of stone or wood and sits there, guarding the headstone, I guess.)

*


Back to walking.  My normal daily walk when I'm at home is an hour, and today's walk was I believe an hour and forty minutes ... and I can't tell you how good I've been feeling ever since.  It's weird, actually.  I don't think it's a 'feel-good' thing from being off work - I think this is a genuine sort of, dare I say, high a la the kind I've gotten in the past from rough-pathed forest-hiking, when I've actually found myself thinking, hokey/cringe-worthy as it may be:  'ahh, this is what I was put on this earth to do.'

This 'high' thing feels so good that not three hours later I've just gone and had another hit/walk - this time merely around the block which is maybe 20 minutes, but dig this:  As I approached this ravine walkway thing, a pretty paved path by a stream behind a long row of houses a few streets from here where dogs are often walked, I said to myself, if I look down the path and see a dog, I'll walk down it.  If not, I'll take the shotcut and head back.  So I look, and damn if there aren't two people and a small white dog - a bichon or poodle type, or maybe a scottie.  Damn, I am good, I think to myself. 

So I head down the path, which is a bit lengthy and winding, in anticipation of some pending dog pervert action, and eventually the two humans get closer, and I'm thinking, little do they know that any pretentions of friendliness/neighborliness coming out of my mouth is actually 100% about cooing over their little adorable white pup.

So ... as they begin approaching I start scanning the landscape looking for my prey, but can't find him.  Well, he's small, probably hidden behind a bush or a tree or perhaps scampered off into the brush.  So I scan further, discreetly so they don't take me for a lunatic - but everywhere I look the little thing's not there.  I'm practically swinging my head around in covert search, to absolutely no avail, when we - me and these two strangers - finally meet and then pass each other, during which I have to stop myself from blurting, "but ... hold on, wait; didn't you have a dog with you??" before I realized ... holy shit ... there is no dog. 

I actually imagined it. 

Which is a little bit unnerving and which means this walking business is now geting me high enough that I'm apparently... hallucinating.

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It also occurred to me, rather hugely on the walks today, what a waste of time working is.  I'm not kidding.  Time - this literally fleeting, severely limited thing - so much more as we age - is robbed of us, due to the system we have set up in which people throw it away, freely and on purpose - never for it to return - in order to do things day in and day out that we don't want to freaking do.  We are even forced to waste time getting ourselves to and from this thing 'work'.  And weekends/vacations?  Short of retirement, (which for me, by the time I get there will be what, 75?), merely a charade, due to it's ever pending end point. 

How fucking tragic.

Being off work with no particular end in sight, is, I realized, what freedom actually is and means.  Not bullshit flag-wavin', USA-chantin' type Republican-syle 'freedom', mind.  Real, organic fucking freedom.