I've sat with pretty words half formed on my tongue for the last few days. As my 'leaving' from this place approaches, I feel a desperation to write.
I want words to help me make sense of it. I think if I could just wrap the whole thing into a neat package of sentences, then maybe I'd be able to better identify just what it is I'm feeling.
But that's not working.
The words aren't satisfying.
And last night, I gave up the fight and let go of the need to have them.
Instead of trying to offer words to the city I love,
I listened to it.
I walked home - from Commercial to Kits - drinking in the sounds.
The Sky Train coming and going, the sound of steel on steel. The wheels of a skateboard rushing over the asphalt. The clinking of a chain. The sound of a shovel diving into the earth as a man worked in his yard. The smack of a baseball hitting gloves back and forth between friends. Sirens. Cell phone conversations. Bad music spilling out of car windows. Crows. Pattering feet. Laughter from the couple sitting in the grass. Brakes squealing, while bicycle spokes gracefully spin. A dog panting as he runs to keep up with his owner. Sprinklers tick-tick-tick-tick'ing across front lawns.
I walked. And I listened.
I didn't want to listen to the voice in my head.
I didn't want to try to find the right words.
I just wanted to be in the silence with this place that I've come to love so dearly.
The writer, George Prochnik has done much work on silence.
He quotes a good friend in saying,
"Sometimes when I'm silent and alone, I'll have this feeling of layers of my identity just peeling away, emptying, until I'm down to the core. And when I get there, to that silence, I meet others ... that I've loved."
Vancouver, how I love thee.
And how you've gifted me with so many beautiful beings to love.
May my silence towards you today speak of my gratitude.
I want words to help me make sense of it. I think if I could just wrap the whole thing into a neat package of sentences, then maybe I'd be able to better identify just what it is I'm feeling.
But that's not working.
The words aren't satisfying.
And last night, I gave up the fight and let go of the need to have them.
Instead of trying to offer words to the city I love,
I listened to it.
I walked home - from Commercial to Kits - drinking in the sounds.
The Sky Train coming and going, the sound of steel on steel. The wheels of a skateboard rushing over the asphalt. The clinking of a chain. The sound of a shovel diving into the earth as a man worked in his yard. The smack of a baseball hitting gloves back and forth between friends. Sirens. Cell phone conversations. Bad music spilling out of car windows. Crows. Pattering feet. Laughter from the couple sitting in the grass. Brakes squealing, while bicycle spokes gracefully spin. A dog panting as he runs to keep up with his owner. Sprinklers tick-tick-tick-tick'ing across front lawns.
I walked. And I listened.
I didn't want to listen to the voice in my head.
I didn't want to try to find the right words.
I just wanted to be in the silence with this place that I've come to love so dearly.
The writer, George Prochnik has done much work on silence.
He quotes a good friend in saying,
"Sometimes when I'm silent and alone, I'll have this feeling of layers of my identity just peeling away, emptying, until I'm down to the core. And when I get there, to that silence, I meet others ... that I've loved."
Vancouver, how I love thee.
And how you've gifted me with so many beautiful beings to love.
May my silence towards you today speak of my gratitude.