Ah, motion. The faint rumble of steel tyres on rails. The flicker of light through metal trellis.
Familiar sights and sounds to me now; experiences that have grown comforting through their familiarity, but that nonetheless represent everything that has been hard about my life over the last year and a bit. Between hitting the keys I can turn my head and watch the Lachine Canal slide under my seat, see the "Farine Five Roses" sign flicker into blackness as the sun slowly rises. Six months ago that was to me, as to all regular travellers into Montreal, the beacon. Bienvenue et au revoir from the Francophonie's second city. Now that the mornings are longer and I am travelling in daylight it has lost some of its strident impact, the glowing red of warning or welcome, depending on my mood.
Sliding through Pointe St. Charles for the last time and... yes! A lone blonde figure standing in the softball diamond waving. Two dogs scurrying about her feet. Waving for the last time. I wave back. Did she see me? I can't tell. For a year this has been our ritual, our pleasure-and-pain final goodbye. One last chance to see each other before the kilometers intervene and work dulls our senses.
But that was the last time. Ever. On my next visit I shall be driving. Sweeping along the 417 and 40 across the limestone plains of eastern Ontario and southwest Quebec. My parting next time will be harder, I know, as the discipline will hall have to come from within. No iron hand of the VIA Rail scheduler dictating to me the hour of my pain. But again... for the last time.
For the time after that, barely four weeks from now, I shall be mounted atop UHaul's finest orange and white workhorse. The contents of her life loaded into the back and, wonder, her seated beside me with the two dogs no longer running, but sleeping peacefully (my fantasies rarely include the truth!) on the spare seat. And so will open a new chapter of my life. A new beginning. New chances, opportunities and experiences waiting to be had. A place to call our home. Our own. We. Together. At last.
A long time ago I promised myself that I would never subject myself to a long distance relationship ever again. For once I am so very glad that I broke a promise. If I hadn't I never would have found what it means to be truly happy. But I don't know how much longer I could have kept leaving. How many more mornings I could have watched the Ste. Anne-de-Bellevue water tower slip past the window and felt my heart grow heavy with the weight of longing.
I love Montreal. I adore its energy and vibrancy, its people, terraces, bustle, urgency, beers, food, music, art... It is a town with soul and always reminds me why I loved living in London for so long. But I am a tourist, just looking, not buying. Ottawa is the future for now, and it is a future that we will take on together, four hands pulling at the sheet lines, four feet (ok, twelve feet...) striding into the unknown. Two hearts, together.
Familiar sights and sounds to me now; experiences that have grown comforting through their familiarity, but that nonetheless represent everything that has been hard about my life over the last year and a bit. Between hitting the keys I can turn my head and watch the Lachine Canal slide under my seat, see the "Farine Five Roses" sign flicker into blackness as the sun slowly rises. Six months ago that was to me, as to all regular travellers into Montreal, the beacon. Bienvenue et au revoir from the Francophonie's second city. Now that the mornings are longer and I am travelling in daylight it has lost some of its strident impact, the glowing red of warning or welcome, depending on my mood.
Sliding through Pointe St. Charles for the last time and... yes! A lone blonde figure standing in the softball diamond waving. Two dogs scurrying about her feet. Waving for the last time. I wave back. Did she see me? I can't tell. For a year this has been our ritual, our pleasure-and-pain final goodbye. One last chance to see each other before the kilometers intervene and work dulls our senses.
But that was the last time. Ever. On my next visit I shall be driving. Sweeping along the 417 and 40 across the limestone plains of eastern Ontario and southwest Quebec. My parting next time will be harder, I know, as the discipline will hall have to come from within. No iron hand of the VIA Rail scheduler dictating to me the hour of my pain. But again... for the last time.
For the time after that, barely four weeks from now, I shall be mounted atop UHaul's finest orange and white workhorse. The contents of her life loaded into the back and, wonder, her seated beside me with the two dogs no longer running, but sleeping peacefully (my fantasies rarely include the truth!) on the spare seat. And so will open a new chapter of my life. A new beginning. New chances, opportunities and experiences waiting to be had. A place to call our home. Our own. We. Together. At last.
A long time ago I promised myself that I would never subject myself to a long distance relationship ever again. For once I am so very glad that I broke a promise. If I hadn't I never would have found what it means to be truly happy. But I don't know how much longer I could have kept leaving. How many more mornings I could have watched the Ste. Anne-de-Bellevue water tower slip past the window and felt my heart grow heavy with the weight of longing.
I love Montreal. I adore its energy and vibrancy, its people, terraces, bustle, urgency, beers, food, music, art... It is a town with soul and always reminds me why I loved living in London for so long. But I am a tourist, just looking, not buying. Ottawa is the future for now, and it is a future that we will take on together, four hands pulling at the sheet lines, four feet (ok, twelve feet...) striding into the unknown. Two hearts, together.