The lush green cornstalks dart motionlessly into the air, resembling now the empyrean architectural projections of Dubai, an expansive formation of uniformity on a murky Sunday morning across the rolling fields. Another week has concluded and another week begins. Does it mark a lifetime or an eternity? Or was it only a day? The unmoving river perfectly reflects the undulating shoreline trees. The world is on pause. A wondrous insect moves unsusupiciously along the drawing room window. A Netherlands choir Vox Luminis mournfully sings on CBC Sunday morning radio.

Perhaps 30 years ago on a grey Sunday morning – wending along a silent avenue in North Toronto on our way out of the city – we listened to Les Voix du Monde. It was then an unsuspecting time of youth, no doubt partly recoiling from the previous night’s restaurant outing somewhere along Parliament Street or in The Beaches. This morning by contrast – awakening from an ample sleep and what by all account is a purified existence – we’re about to head back into the city to join Bunny for luncheon at the posh semi-private diner in her fashionable Westboro digs. Not long ago she made what to us seemed the precipitous decision to remove herself from the tranquility of rural living and reclaim what we imagine rightfully to be her urban social domaine. She has already warned us of the on-going construction related to the new rail line.

Accommodation of change is imperative not only as a mechanism of adaptation but as acknowledgement of truth. The critical elements of an argument ensure the proper direction of motion. There are the inevitable confessions and condemnations. Clarity by any measure is never an easy gambit. It requires submission, alteration and possibly a degree of loss. But it never pays to linger upon the subject.

We fully anticipate a delightful reunion, dignified by refinement and artistry. It is after all a Sunday morning outing!