Vancouver
The air shook with an unbearable lightness,
The promise of protection hanging silently beneath a canopy of trees. Calm streets, swept of debris, lined with homes who sit quietly beneath an openness of drifting birds. Crows, whose nesting, recreational cries fuse lightly with the sightless initiative of the mind, stood frozen in the backdrop of immovable skies, its clouds a moving shadow which floats atop the mountaintops and colossal flanks of the hillsides.
It is that odd juxtaposition: the tress and miniature forms which spring, reaching upwards amidst the relative calm and comfortable obscurity of the strange and fragile creatures which rest beneath their shadow.
The red-striped ships sit patiently in the harbour, as though the ocean itself refuses to move.
Here, there is no further West to venture to, lest the forlorn rags of Siberian winters.
