When I was a little girl, I was enchanted with a foggy morning. Mist, with it's silvery, lavenderish cast, was more beautiful than the sunniest of June days. I would run to school imagining I was an angel running amongst the clouds, filled with energy as if the close air enveloped me with some new and everlasting oxygen.
The fog still calls to me and I still go half expecting to find another world.
Toronto's Nuit Blance, 2012. In which we go out at bedtime and find art in the city. And lots and lots of people.
I say it often to the folks who take my classes: don't ignore the things that inspire you, even if you don't know why they are making you feel inspired. Maybe, even years later, it'll be the missing puzzle piece.
I'd like to say I wander aimlessly, but really I point my compass away from the humanity crowding the sidewalks. At one point, I walk into Lombard Street, also named "Gilda Radner Way" after Gilda's Club. I'm enamoured with this particular building, which turns out to be the College of Makeup Art and Design, and as much with the sun playing on the building's fascade.
Monday night and a gentle walk in the Harbour and the Toronto Music Garden. The season is changing – the birds are gathering and readying for migration, vegetation is ripening, and a few leaves are already beginning to fall. If I didn't love this time of year so much, I might start mourning the summer in advance of its leaving us.