Been playing with names of streets and things in my neighbourhood. Wrote a little ditty that goes something like this:


the isle islet, parc of arthur. the flu laurent wrote, the new of rue. mushroom street and a spare palm of square, change makes cabot and york a rich man. the french dine on mushrooms, there. adventure of egan, passed with clifford, hand in hand the river joins. lack of Battalle, a 1st and 2nd visit, the eve of more promises; the boulevard, the mink. manned, tin marches on the brown stone block; signs of inlet, of valiant. these things, this traffic ring.


In other news: last night I dreamed of PEI. I used to take the ferry when I was a kid. Wore those giant (then) red cloth flotation "bibs". Anyhow, in the dream the ocean was a viscious monster, pelting waves of salt water onto a fish 'n chip restaurant deck where I was standing. The terror was in the air, but somehow people were piling onto a ferry in hopes of getting to the island as soon as they could. I too was in a rush to board the ship of death. I can still see the surroundings. Parking lot to the right. Long skinny road curving into a flat horizontal line. Funny thing is, I know I've had this dream before. And the familiarity was warm and welcoming. I miss the volatile sea. The skinny roads. The sea meals.

Did you hear about the whale getting chopped up by some boat's propellor out there on the west coast? How sad is that.