If you squint your eyes while looking into the distance, you’ll notice a small dilapidated wooden shelter in the field adjoining the river next to the burgeoning corn stalks. The weathered tiny barn has almost retreated beneath the mounting vegetation. The emerald coloured corn stalks are now high enough in the sky to tempt one to smell the delicious yellow brew of their cobs. Today (aside from the repeated tornado warnings “for this mobile coverage area” from Environment Canada) is Thursday, July 13th, soon enough in the season to begin to dream about the perfect outdoor summer luncheon. Coincidentally yesterday while pedaling my tricycle along Spring Street I noticed a picnic table in the riverfront park nearby our residence. This proximity presents an ideal location for one of those prophesized sausage-in-a-bun from the Almonte Butcher where every Saturday (weather permitting) they barbecue al fresco.
The sky darkens. Clouds are assembling. Lightening flashes. Thunder somewhere in the distance is approaching. The rain starts to fall enthusing immobility. It is an unusually tranquil period for us. After literally months of devotion to seemingly endless obligations (the necessities of which arise primarily as a result of our winter truancy) we have rounded the corner of duty and begun the imperceptible decline to October to renew our annual leave. Already I am contemplating the poetic energy of the vista from my drawing room window upon the nearby meadow and riverfront. The shoreline trees will soon conform to the miracle of autumnal foliage.