I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
—T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
Tranquility is becoming rare. When my days are packed with deadlines and outside pressures, the moments to myself become precious (Oh, my precioussss. It issss preciousss to me.).
Early today, I escaped the weekend routine and drove without any particular direction. I had my camera with me. I don’t claim (or want) to be an art photog. I like having a camera with me because taking photos is restful. It anchors me in the moment.
My first stop was Admirality Trail in the University Endowment Lands.
Like many of the trails through this vast park, the birch trees arch overhead as the trail winds around and through the many streams and gulleys.
The forest floor is carpeted with lush green moss, which is home to all kinds of creatures, leggy and otherwise.
The trail emerged next to the beach at Spanish Banks. It’s not uncommon to find inukshuk and cairns built by someone in a meditative mood. Just offshore, a harbour seal watched me with silent curiosity.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.