Talk about gratitude can be cheap. The real feeling of it is elusive.
It drops unscripted.
On Tuesday evening, right there, a warmth spread through me.
Just below the southwest corner of University Ave and King Street.
St. Andrew’s station.
The tube of fluorescent light casting bleach spots on the glazed teal tiles. Terrazzo the colour of dirty mop water. A loudspeaker that crackles and sends out garbled messages. Even if you strain to listen, it’s impossible to hear.
I’ve passed here countless times. There’s a weekday noon meeting I like near Roy Thomson Hall.
Mundane. The word that best fits it.
But it’s where I felt a sparkle.
My heart broke open to the beauty of the city.
Crazy, I know.
I was passing through on my way to get my booster shot at the Metro Convention Centre.
At the clinic, Abba’s Super Trouper was playing.
"Tonight the super trouper beams are gonna blind me
But I won't feel blue
Like I always do
'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you"
It’s been hard. I know of no one who has escaped that fact this year.
I hope there are good, kind, big-hearted humans riding shotgun with you.
And that there’s room for your heart to break open too.