the highway

Oh here I am back after a sweet march break at the cottage spent enjoying the sun and listening to baby beavers mewing away in their den which was built courtesy of all the trees (which used to be) fronting the property. I've never been there at this time of year, this time of awakening and melting. Everything was alive and the air had that sweet smell of spring arrived. Our main activity was crushing the soft ice with discarded sticks and watching it float away with the current, searching the skies for the (2) bald eagles that have taken up residence on a nearby island, punctuated with wine and coffee and books and sketching and long walks through the woods.

I have noticed that I fit into an environment of solitude and quiet very easily and when it comes time to get back to civilization I get ansty. Being around people again is something I have to ease myself into. It happens everytime I am at the cottage. I get used to the landscape, the rhythm and it feels like a natural landscape and rhythm and my system goes into shock when I have to be around people again, when I have to look at buildings and hear city noises again. I have to do it in increments. I enjoy the sights and opportunities but it only takes a short time before I am turning my gaze back to the quiet and peaceful place and measuring time until I return to it. The highway is a terrible answer to a week away.

That's why I like where I live. I can gaze out my window and see nothing but the trees, hear nothing but the birds. There is a trade off but I feel calm here in the centre of myself, I can think here and hear the answers. It's enough stimulation for me a lot of the time. I may actually be becoming some sort of hermit cat lady of Oakville. I may actually be ok with that. I'll let my hair grow grey and wild and scare kids as they pass by the window.