I spent my Saturday morning at a cafe on Queen West reading the newspaper. You know—a newspaper: that once authoritative collection of ink that’s printed on awkwardly large & flimsy recycled paper. Yes, people still read them—even bloggers.
After two hours of learning about the crisis in Greece, Lesbian-mothered families & tattooed Barbie dolls, I needed a break: our world is too fascinating for one cup of coffee.
I walked my bike across the street to my favourite park in the city, Trinity Bellwoods Park. I like to enter Bellwoods through the gates on the south side, even though the gate itself is just a formality, since the entire parameter of the park is otherwise open. I noticed others have this habit as well, & I laugh to myself thinking what an odd species we are.
I steered my bike off the path & into the grass, weaving between mothers with their strollers and dogs with their people. It was a nice day to be lonely.
We hit 7 billion people this week, I thought to myself; Seven billion. On the BBC website, you can find out what number human being you are by inputting your date of birth & last name. I didn’t check mine. Numbers matter to some, but not to me. Besides, what difference would it make?
The park was a palate of burnt siennas & rich ever-greens, like a vibrant impressionist painting. A romantic thought about the painter Renoir & his lover crossed my mind, but I batted it away quickly; I was decidedly a realist now. After all, summer was over.
