Ascent
I am cycling up a winding hill. Deep into the first rising turn, a crow stands pecking at some prize, cocks his head to look at me like a wise-guy at a bar.
It moves against the trees and the side of the building like pin-filled waves.
It is possible that you have heard of how kind the people in Atlantic Canada are. Good God, it’s true!
Is this the thing? Aristotle's idea of living a happy, flourishing life. Do people do this? Now?
In all of this lunacy, global vitriol and push, in the wake of senseless tragedies and the signs of a world spinning, spinning, ready to tip, I am distracted. I feel lost, until I find myself sitting with my friend, Diane Tait, on the floor in her house, listening to a recording of her playing Brahms Violin Concerto for a recital.