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Apr. 22nd, 2009 12:02 pmI've done a ridiculous amount of driving around southwestern Ontario in the past week or two. I've been in and out of cities, over to the lake and around the countryside. I've driven in snow and rain and sun and hail. The hail was yesterday - when it started up I had the window down, and had to roll up quick after it came stinging into the car.
Even with the hail, it was a great afternoon to be driving home... There was a long interview with Gordon Lightfoot on the CBC, and the miles of field rolled past to old Lightfoot songs. Listening the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald under rolling grey skies can still give me chills.
On the weekend we braked as a beaver crossed the road. The tractors are out on some of the drier fields, in others blackbirds are perched in the corn stubble. The birches are bleeding from white trunks to a burnished dark red in twigs, the willows glowing gold in the late afternoon sun. The lilies are growing bright green in the ditches. My neighbour's magnolia tree is starting to bud, white promises of spring I can see from the upstairs hall. I saw colts and calves and wee baby lambs in pastures.
It was windy driving home, the tractor trailer ahead of me on the highway going north was squirrelly on the road, twisting onto the gravel shoulder. The pines swaying, the willows streaming out, the sky clearing to the west, over the lake.
Even with the hail, it was a great afternoon to be driving home... There was a long interview with Gordon Lightfoot on the CBC, and the miles of field rolled past to old Lightfoot songs. Listening the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald under rolling grey skies can still give me chills.
On the weekend we braked as a beaver crossed the road. The tractors are out on some of the drier fields, in others blackbirds are perched in the corn stubble. The birches are bleeding from white trunks to a burnished dark red in twigs, the willows glowing gold in the late afternoon sun. The lilies are growing bright green in the ditches. My neighbour's magnolia tree is starting to bud, white promises of spring I can see from the upstairs hall. I saw colts and calves and wee baby lambs in pastures.
It was windy driving home, the tractor trailer ahead of me on the highway going north was squirrelly on the road, twisting onto the gravel shoulder. The pines swaying, the willows streaming out, the sky clearing to the west, over the lake.
