far too much writing, far too many photos

That turning of the seasons thing started with the tiresome elbow prods last week. With the solstice two months in the past, the sun creeps off behind the hills a whole lot earlier than it was just…. er…. two months ago. The songbirds got quiet, robins talking in the evening at the beginning of the week, then falling silent. And somewhere in there, they all caught a bus south, leaving quiet mornings in their wake, the only noise coming from the occasional crow, sparrow or blue jay.

The first (and so far only) true heat wave of the summer hung around for days and days, temperatures finally moderating but humidity spiking abusively to make up for it. Air mild, but so packed with moisture that just breathing started sweat popping out of skin, running down back, etc. Spent that entire week back in Montpelier, it went by so quickly that I can hardly remember any specifics of the passing days apart from what I’ve already laid out here. Spent far too much time online, I know that. Watched the days tilt by. Worked on further emptying out/ organizing the storage compartment where most of the remaining material hooha of what passes for my life got dumped when I unloaded house/land on June 1. Gave some stuff away. Watched DVDs. Ate, slept, etc. The days lurched by.

Sunday morning:: packed bags, tossed them into car, got out on the road, followed it north. Two and a half hours later, found myself back in Montreal, gray, humid vermont weather giving way to a lovely, user-friendly, late August afternoon. The city’s downtown was packed with students returning to McGill University. Piles of trash and unwanted furnishings appeared on sidewalks as old tenants made way for new ones. I’d forgotten how much useful stuff gets tossed at times like that. Folks moved along sidewalks, picking through piles, taking away items. Cars pulled up, parents unloaded bags, stereos, etc., 20ish offspring carted them into buildings.

Next morning, more mountainous piles of discarded stuff appeared along sidewalks. By that evening, not much remained. The morning after that, you’d never know huge masses of possessions had recently covered much of the neighborhood’s sidewalks.

Meanwhile, Monday a.m. far too early — far, far too early — I dragged my sorry carcass to a language school downtown and began four weeks of intensive French classes. Or what I thought would be four weeks of classes. As often happens, plans change. ‘Cause life takes unexpected turns.

[continued in next entry]

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Dusk, Montreal:

EspaƱa, te echo de menos

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