Montreal 1

Looking back, one of my best memories, I think, will be from last summer. I was spending about a day and a half in Montreal on my way to the ocean. I was on this road trip with a couple of friends. We had split up to explore the city some more. I just wanted to spend time in a beautiful place.

I found a park (I think it was Parc La Fontaine), I'm not sure how I'd gotten there. There was an artificial pond steeped in grassy shady hills. The trees were all old enough to give the park a sense of roots. No saplings promising a future not yet arrived. These trees had patiently waited for the present and found that it was always with them.

I felt the same way. For an hour or two, I got to just be. In every sense of the word for me. I sat on one of the hill, on some a bench, under a tree, in the sun, and I watched the pretty Quebecois and tourists and I read. I read about the beautiful dreams the rich have about peasants. I read about vision and comprehension. I read about education. I read about books.

In reading in this beautiful park, in existing among these ideas, I got to be. I'm glad.