Sunday, August 12, 2007

Four more weeks, and we’re home. It’s strange. I can already feel myself hanging on. Not wanting it to finish. Wanting to buy all the food at Marks and Spencers that I haven’t tried yet. Don’t miss anything. And questioning: have I done enough with my time here, or have I frittered away opportunities? Funny. We want to have it all, and are so rarely able to enjoy the experience we have. I have to accept that resting is a valid choice.  And that M & S will be offering a whole new line of food the next time I come to England! So four weeks is four weeks, and as the house playwright once said, “That that is, is”.

I didn’t do much with my Sunday but try to recover from this dreadful cold. A big long sleep, a couple of hours of writing, an hour or so on the internet, some reading. Hot compresses on my sinuses. Some phone calls from home. A great curry dinner that Jenny made, that we ate in the garden with Ryan, one of the fellows from the Mac/Mac company who has become the Ferry House cat. And then, at 11 pm I walked out the front door, stood at the end of the Ferry dock, and looked up at the stars.

It was a beautiful night. The river was lined with sleeping canal boats moored along the bank-side. In the distance I could hear the thrum of the motorway several kilometres away, and under my feet the occasional fish jumped so close it made my heart skip. Not a swan in sight, not a ripple on the water, a bit frightening actually, in its blackness.

I made a tacit agreement with myself, that I would just wait for one.

Nothing. For fifteen minutes. There was quite a bit of air traffic, and I thought for a while that I would miss them because of the distraction of planes. But then came the first one. Light, but unmistakable. The briefest dash across the sky. The stars seemed to multiply and turn up their light. Then another. Almost imperceptible.

Like a subliminal message. Three. Four. But it was Five that was worth waiting for. A bright streak through the sky above the darkened green, with its long tail fracturing the sky for a full second. Meteoric.

What a great word. What a singular experience.

It is a time. A time that cannot be captured. A time that the eye of the mind can retain, but never hold. A time to release.


2 Responses to “Meteoric”

  1. Chris Hunt Says:

    Hi Kate,

    I’ve soooo enjoyed reading every word and seeing every picture in your blog. I hope your cold and your injuries are better. I sure wish I could see this show, either over there or in Ottawa, but it’s not gonna happen. Hi to Jenny and Ms. Koslo. Did she go out with the cabbie?


  2. Kate Says:

    Chris Hunt!
    It’s wild that people from across our beloved country are reading these little missives.
    As for Koslo and the Cabbie. She went out at the dinner break and took a few pictures of the hundreds of bikes by the river… and decided she didn’t even like bikes! So, no. No rock concert with the bikers.
    Greetings to all in Calgary!

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: