The leaves still dance on branches that have resisted the winds of last night's storm. They claim a right to joy in the midst of devastation. The tree that fell across a neighbour's driveway lets the light in through its intractable width; and for a time I dwell in the shining symphony of those rain-drenched sundrops. A truck groans its way over the urban marshland, its tires squelching tracks into the gravelly mud, roads undone by the downpour and the deep pockets of wily contractors. The offending barrier gives up its theatrical protest as it is lifted unceremoniously onto a rusty steel bed-- twisted branches all, muddied trunk whole, crushed fruit bittersweet. And those leaves, glistening green-- they're still dancing.
making sense of the everyday