Let me try something…

I am writing this standing, leaning onto a warm wall of pink-painted brick on the corner between Prince-Arthur and Jeanne-Mance streets in Tiohtià:ke, at 6:15pm on the longest day of this year. It is summer solstice, it is the third day of a rare June heatwave and it is still hot, but the air is becoming a little more breathable. Just now there is a gentle breeze. The city is noisy and full of tourists, but also strangely leisurely, its French soul protecting it from succumbing to capitalist frenzy. I feel well, slow, tired, generous and I am writing this because one, I have time and two, I want to see how it feels to write from a place of presence (not emotion, imagination or memory). It feels ok.