Confession

I went to Clayburn today. Somewhere I have been planning to go since seeing Shaun’s “Secret Garden”. I had wanted to take him there, explore the old ruins of the brick kilns.

It’s all been fenced.

Sanitized.

The world is worried about liability. Responsibility. Right and wrong. Ownership. Who has the pissing rights.

But still the trees grow; tall and cavernous… they spread their great and arrogant branches up and over all that fencing, claiming the sky as theirs. Roots cling to the old cement warrens of the firing kilns, breaking them down with moss and rotten leaves. I enjoy this juxtaposition. The chain fence. The lush green of evolution.

I love the scent of the blackberry bushes, the wet green smell of the moss… how the light fractures down through the canopy. It was as beautiful a cathedral as the church in Ottawa. Just not as sacrosanct. I only wish the fence could have faded away… I would have loved to photograph the arched openings… the fallen stones.

Wandering around the old store, the smell of old roses.

There was a moment, when I went to turn away from the fence, camera in hand, that I nearly ran into his chest. Invasion of personal space. I guess we all do it… Me with the store owner, my camera peeking into people's windows.

I have given up trying to see potential. For now, I will just see the way the light hits the leaves at two in the afternoon.

Galiano is calling me louder. I want to fall asleep listening to the frogs and waves… drink gritty coffee and watch the sun come up.

Do you have a sanctuary? A touch stone? Or have you given up on such foolishness… grown up. Put away the dreams.

“It’s easier than waiting around to die.”

Will you see the magic there? Coming down to the sudden surprise of the ocean… the green blue of the water… the wind song in the cedars….

Completely UNsanitized.



G