bobcaygeon past we drove slowly past where she used to live, the house where her life was uprooted and turned upside down. not even on the island proper, nor on the lake itself, but close enough to both that the feeling of home rhymed with both town and cottage life. the curtains were drawn, but light glimmered through like so many constellations revealing themselves. "i never really feel comfortable in this part of the province," i said, or maybe thought as she didn't respond. "it's never really been a home even though it was for so long. i can't keep the towns straight, in memory or even when visiting them." her eyes were distant, turned towards the trees on the right away from the old house, where a narrow dirt track led to the sorry excuse for public water access. the summer homes of the rich stealing so much space from those who labour year round to maintain their luxury. "these places have so much happiness for me though, and i shouldn't let the sadness steal them." she was always trying to make the most of a bad hand, and in a way it might the stars shine a bit brighter. "the rest of you left as soon as you could, and i mean we didn't grow up here, but i'm closer than the rest of you." "we do come back." "and then you leave again." 220804 ... nr “that night in toronto with those checkerboard floors…” (hi, legendary horseshoe tavern!) 220804 ... nr *with its (gah! i didn’t think i’d have had to look that one up.) 220804 ... raze two days after gord downie stopped breathing, i heard his voice calling to me through_a_window_through_a_wall. the sky wasn't dull or hypothetical. it was bold and bright and as real as anything i'd seen outside of a dream. the small town he was singing about could have been my city wearing different clothes. in another life, i might have been that stressed-out cop drunk on wine and willie nelson, asking hard questions about the choices i'd made. we all look for love to blot out the pain living without it brings, and to chase the taste of whatever we think is rotten in us. i didn't sing along. i stood at a door that didn't open and wouldn't have given me enough space to leave even if it did, and i felt the sad smirk of the celestial sphere, with all its secrets concealed by sunlight. some songs are strong enough to perforate anything. no fixture or foul mood can withstand the flood of feeling carried on the melodies and stout stanzas that hit us where we live. not even death can defeat that pulse. 220804 what's it to you? who go blather from