old Pink Panther cartoons are on
as always at St-Viateur Bagels
in the Plateau
and Parc Lafontaine is exploding
with colour, even the squirrels
seem to be painted.
the air is dry and crisp and French and cool,
and the wind seems to be in love with me,
just as much as I love it.
my black boots are jealous,
because this is the only place
that I don't walk while
looking down at them and the treasures.
whisper the rain
and beg to be here again,
hearing the boxes that are
running wild in Montreal,
where we don't go,
bare feet behind the places these blogs come together.