Days are Short
Days are short. Nighttime seems forever. That doesn’t bother the huge white hares—sometimes referred to as snow bunnies—who bounce around in the dark.
I’m walking and they are moving with speed. I’m chanting softly with beads in right hand, but the bunnies are silent. How many? Hard to tell. Half a dozen? One pops up here and then disappears within the darkness of pre-dawn and camouflages with the snow. Then another repeats the same action coming from a different direction.
They are surreal, but the only sign of life—so it seems—in what is the area of White City. It’s not clear about the origin of the town’s name. Apparently, it has nothing to do with snow. But I’ve gotten to know the place, somewhat. It’s primarily a commuter bedroom community of Regina. The name also has nothing to do with racial colour.
As I was trekking over low levels of snow, I recalled how, at least on two occasions, the police from White City came to see what I was up to. This was not long after 9/11 and the collapse of New York’s Twin Towers.
I explained, “I’m a monk, a Krishna monk. I’m hosted by residents here. Jai Ram is a home owner and he is a local palm reader. I’m rather harmless.” I was good to go.
When Jai heard of this he was upset and complained to the mayor who responded by visiting him. The mayor offered an apology and wanted to let us know that White City is a good place. “Not pure,” but good. He also mentioned that in earlier years, he was in a rock band with Don Gotteil, a.k.a. Dharmaprana, a Krishna monk currently living in the Toronto temple. Small world.
I kept walking the trails and streets of White City after the incident, and the mayor, while driving, noticed me.
“Anyone harass you lately?”
“No! Thanks! I’m fine.”
May the Source be with you!