A pile of borrowed summers waiting for warmer water.
The boats were stacked and waiting and so, more or less, were the rest of us. Grey day, grey lake, and this one loud row of colour against it. I liked that they had not given up on the season yet.
Cherry blossoms and the reminder that nothing beautiful waits for you.
Every year Toronto gets maybe ten days of this. If you blink you miss it. I have started treating cherry blossom season like a deadline. Drop everything, grab the camera, go look up. These flowers do not care if you are busy. They bloom and they leave.
The city underground with the crowd finally gone.
There is a version of the station almost nobody sees, the one with no one in it. During that year the trains ran mostly empty and the quiet felt heavier than usual. I remember my own footsteps.
