Ironically perhaps the focus of my attention today has been upon the renewal of my Canadian passport. I say that the red tape inspires wry amusement because presently we have no intention of travelling. Our erstwhile mutuality of international domicile has dissolved. We are still reeling from the perceived unwelcome mat in the United States of America. Instead of seeking bookings on Hilton Head Island, Longboat Key or Key Largo we are inclined to be sardonic.

My first passport – which I believe I may still have stashed in my lower desk drawer – was a diplomatic passport reflective of my father’s assignment to Canadian Embassies. We (that is, my family and I) always felt the vague privilege of diplomatic immunity when traveling although to my knowledge we never abused the entitlement. If I recall correctly the ancient diplomatic passports were regularly stamped with the ink of the name of the places we visited. At the moment our travel plans have evaporated – though tomorrow morning we venture to Lac Mont Tremblant, QC on an investigative run just to keep the fires smouldering.

Combined with the Laurentian allure is the ineluctable draw to the North Atlantic Ocean on the South Shore of Nova Scotia where presently friends of ours – a young couple – are engaged in building a new home and a new life. It speaks to the vastness of this country that we mutter so freely of jaunting across the map.  Certainly for my part the advantage of the space is the invitation to drive, to wend along, up and down the smooth highways often through perpetual hinterland.

Meanwhile on Canada Day 2025 I content myself to indulge the vista of shimmering corn stalks along the river. The town is surprisingly quiet.  I reckon many have resorted to nearby cottages. In Gemmill Park this afternoon there will likely be promotion of events antecedent to the ritual fireworks this evening. My longtime friend and former physician has lately returned from abroad.  In a mid-afternoon email he promised a call over the cocktail hour to acquaint us with the tales of his recent trans-Atlantic voyage and cycling in the south of France. It is people like he who propel the attraction of travel – though we both have yet to learn who, if either of us, will complete the cycle and reclaim domesticity instead. They are unquestionably competing drivers as one approaches the outer rim of existence. And while I am all for frivolity and buoyancy, there is an undeniable sedation at play.

Nonetheless I snap my fingers at dénouement! While unknotting the final act of this venerable play is a success of origin and end, I preserve the right to languish further, to test the remote waters, to complicate the hardened oils.