Sunday. We lounge a little over coffee, and then head out for a bike ride out to the Beaches and back, with the idea that we'll have brunch on a patio on our return. I have two of these with that excellent brunch.
Later, we buy some veg and wine for dinner later and then go hang out on my building's rooftop and watch the CNE's annual air show. There is more than one reason that air shows creep me out. One is related to a recurring nightmare I had back in a former life, which always culminated in a small plane crash. In a harbour. Much like the harbour sitting underneath these dipping and twirling machines.
The other creep factor is the raw fear the sound of the fighter jets in particular awake in me. For a moment, as it roars overhead, higher and higher, preparing for its hurtling dive back to earth, I am rendered frozen, hands tingling, heart racing.
The synchronized flying is beautiful, and I do enjoy watching. But it's an uncomfortable appreciation.