Life is a funny thing.
It never releases all its secrets at once. It kind of keeps you hanging on, always at its mercy, being tossed by every whim and fancy. Which I suppose has me sitting here today. I am on my own now, in a town not my own and surrounded by a language that seems just a distant memory.
I am in Montreal, far from where I thought I would ever be and yet so close I can almost taste it. Today it rained. I love the city in the rain and used most of my afternoon to watch the umbrellas bob up and down the main streets and in and out of metro stations in this french town as the drops fell from the heavens in varying shapes and sizes. It was a wonderful sight, each umbrella unique in form and color. Some had ears, others had tassels, some were garish hues of pink and green, others afforded no style at all. What a joy that I am afforded this luxury. I think that I am in love. In love with a life that could be mine and is mine. A life in the middle of rain and umbrellas and crowds and metro stations.
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