Fruit and Flower

On Monday morning, I sat down in the kitchen and picked up a pear off the table. It was beginning to rot, and its skin had begun to wrinkle with age--it seemed almost humanlike in appearance. I carried the soft piece of fruit outside into the backyard and took a picture of it in my hand, my thumb pressed gently against it--skin to skin. The sun beamed down and the air was warm. Afterwards, I returned the pear to where I'd found it.



The leaves are out. The leaves are out! There are tulips growing in the backyard.



And violets sprouting like weeds. I some and only to drop them back down to earth, letting them fall between the cracks of the cement path.



That evening, as I rode my bike west on College St. for dinner at Utopia, I experienced a bit of a sunshower--it was nice despite the fact that I didn't want to have to ride my bike back home in full fledged rain. Dark clouds floated in the sky, but the rays of sunlight still managed to push past them. As I pedaled, the wind blew flower petals down onto the pavement like confetti.

Yesterday after Alia came home from work, I sat and spoke to her in the kitchen. As we were talking, I picked up that same rotting pear off the table and smashed it down against the fake wood grain. It squished in the most pleasing way--it's bottom flattened, its insides oozing. The conversation paused, and we both laughed. I smelled the juices on my hand, and then cleaned up the mess.

Clear Skies Wet Eyes

This morning the sun continued to shine down on Toronto--for which I am incredibly thankful. The endless days of cloudy skies of April had begun to really affect me. I went to Ideal for a coffee, and sat with Steve, Colin & Matt. The conversation turned to how we were all bummed--heavy hearted & sad. We briefly discussed the failings of our romances--Colin shared that he had been engaged, but that things had ended and his ex moved to Vancouver. He asserted that they were both still in love, but that things just couldn't work out. As he spoke, his eyes began welling with tears. I clasped my hand to my chest--it was heartbreaking.

Perhaps a meeting of the broken hearts is in order. We'll have a sad songs listening party, and a long hard cry...

Unified public weeping!

Fur and Oil

Wednesday morning I discovered a mouse stuck in a sticky trap that one of my roommates had set in the kitchen on the floor by the sink. Nobody else was around--so I sat down at the table and tried to ignore it. I thought that the mouse was dead, and I didn't want to be the one responsible for disposing of its tiny body. But suddenly, the mouse began to struggle and let out a terrible shriek. I couldn't bare to stay in the room--I felt so bad for the creature! What a terrible fate! I headed to the living room at sat down on the couch, but could still hear the rodent's cries.

I called my friend Stephen, and luckily he told me that the mouse could be freed with oil. I had no idea! I thought that the poor thing was stuck until it died. I headed back to the kitchen and scooped it up with a dustpan, and set it free with some sesame oil behind the house. I should have taken it to the alley way at least...later Gnoll told me that sometimes, when a mouse is caught in a trap like that, it will chew its own leg off, leaving a tiny trail of blood as it drags its body across the floor...I hope that my roommate decides on using a different kind of trap.