Friday, 3 April 2015

Wednesday, March 11th, 2015

Toronto, Ontario
The Can
The wind was kicking the can.  It created a crass noise, clanky, hitting the pavement as a repetitious toss in the air.  It finally came to a roll, it was bent out of shape.  It was a soft drink can from what I could make of it.  After the roll it was ditched by the wind into a pool of melted snow by a curb. 
I had the notion to pick it up and to carry it to the nearest municipal recycling bin.  Yet, the can that caught several pedestrians’ attention, became so submerged, I couldn’t get access unless if I wanted to get my socks and shoes drenched.
Somehow or other I related to the can.  I took it to be me, a soul on a sojourn, being hurled around, and then journey’s end materializing.  I hope that one day my shenanigans will reach a complete stop, that is, the wrestling of anger, greed, lust, and covetousness.
In the meantime I was enjoying the sound of the symphony, that is, of water dripping, and water flowing, and then draining into the street manholes.  It was all the dynamics of a spring thaw that makes its own music. 
The can contributed immensely. 
May the Source be with you!
7 KM

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