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(originally posted to Diaryland.com, 2003-09-18 - 11:58 p.m.)
... on my way home from work at Ipsos-Reid tonight, I decided to get off the bus two stops early and drop by the 7-11 convenience store on Corydon Avenue (the main street of Winnipeg's Little Italy district) for a can of catfood. Once it was bought and tucked inside my bag, I ducked down a sidestreet to McMillan Avenue, half a block north of Corydon, and walked three long blocks down it to our apartment building on the corner of McMillan Avenue and Wentworth Street.
Corydon Avenue is beautiful at any time of the year -- full of elegant shop windows, neon signs, streetside cafes and outdoor restaurant patios decorated with multicolored Christmas lights entwined in the branches of lush overhanging trees.
McMillan Avenue, though removed from the constant street traffic that Corydon boasts even at 11 pm on a weekday night, is no less lovely. Unlike all other North American cities, Winnipeg has been able to save most of its mature elm trees from the ravages of dutch elm disease, and they tower five stories over the boulevards, arching over the roadways to mingle their branches. As I walked home through the autumn night already spiced with the tang of coming cold weather, the soft sighing of their leaves kept me company.
It's a night to make me realize how lovely my home city is, and how blessed I am to live here. The houses up and down the street seemed smiling and full of light. A few fallen leaves were already lying in the gutters, reminding me that I'll need to gather some up soon for my Samhain altar at the end of October. The pavement glistened with wetness. There was so little vehicular traffic that I walk into the middle of the intersection closest to my home and stand there, turning to look in all four directions in turn down empty streets that stretch as far as I can see. The dislocation from my usual headspace (the headspace of every other member of my society, which tells me that you DON'T stand in the middle of intersections) was oddly pleasing, and I enjoyed it for several seconds before reluctantly returning to the sidewalk where all good and sane pedestrians are supposed confine their footsteps.
Little moments like that are meant to savor, for they are pure magic.
... on my way home from work at Ipsos-Reid tonight, I decided to get off the bus two stops early and drop by the 7-11 convenience store on Corydon Avenue (the main street of Winnipeg's Little Italy district) for a can of catfood. Once it was bought and tucked inside my bag, I ducked down a sidestreet to McMillan Avenue, half a block north of Corydon, and walked three long blocks down it to our apartment building on the corner of McMillan Avenue and Wentworth Street.
Corydon Avenue is beautiful at any time of the year -- full of elegant shop windows, neon signs, streetside cafes and outdoor restaurant patios decorated with multicolored Christmas lights entwined in the branches of lush overhanging trees.
McMillan Avenue, though removed from the constant street traffic that Corydon boasts even at 11 pm on a weekday night, is no less lovely. Unlike all other North American cities, Winnipeg has been able to save most of its mature elm trees from the ravages of dutch elm disease, and they tower five stories over the boulevards, arching over the roadways to mingle their branches. As I walked home through the autumn night already spiced with the tang of coming cold weather, the soft sighing of their leaves kept me company.
It's a night to make me realize how lovely my home city is, and how blessed I am to live here. The houses up and down the street seemed smiling and full of light. A few fallen leaves were already lying in the gutters, reminding me that I'll need to gather some up soon for my Samhain altar at the end of October. The pavement glistened with wetness. There was so little vehicular traffic that I walk into the middle of the intersection closest to my home and stand there, turning to look in all four directions in turn down empty streets that stretch as far as I can see. The dislocation from my usual headspace (the headspace of every other member of my society, which tells me that you DON'T stand in the middle of intersections) was oddly pleasing, and I enjoyed it for several seconds before reluctantly returning to the sidewalk where all good and sane pedestrians are supposed confine their footsteps.
Little moments like that are meant to savor, for they are pure magic.
