Miles Away From Grey

As Autumn turns to Winter,
I am dancing away
and that which once
haunted my periphery.

Made my way back
to The Coves.
Those abandoned Apple Trees
helped me to cope with a dying marriage.

And thinking this morn
of how Tim LOVED going for walks
he would have loved these places.

No bossy Tim,
no lying Tim,
no addicted Tim,
no dying Tim,
just TIM.
The best part of him.


Irish Lake was surrounded by a land recovering its ancient wildness, after being stripped and logged in the mid-1800’s by the first settlers who attempted to tame that County of Grey.

Today, hunting, cabins and trailers in the bush, with milk producing co-ops selling Yogurt, and Ice Cream manufacturing plants being now the mainstays of the economy. This is where you escape to, this is where you go to be alone, to hear yourself think. It is where you go to get lost.

Here in London, the Old Orchard reminds me of that untamed beauty that Grey had. All the messy drifts of Grape Vines engulfing long dead Apple trees, amid stands of dried Goldenrod and grasses, and Staghorn Sumac creating graceful archways to and fro amongst the newly dark-ling woods. The quiet rustling wind, and the caw, caw, caw of The Crows across the remaining meadow lands, signaling the Red-tailed Hawk is about.

Sun glistening off the golden grasslands, illuminating the landscape in these dreamy rays. Crisp air kiss my cheeks, and tinkly chirps of finches flutter off in two’s and threes across the old boggy arm of the Thames, as I make my way along those old paths.

They say Mom that there are trails along the coves that go back a thousand years, or more. And I wonder what I’d find if I dug about in the earth. Ancient arrowheads, from the long dead perhaps? I can almost see the old hallow ways, long ago lost to make way for the Apples. Adjacent to this spot once sat a paint factory, and great damage was inflicted upon this old elbow of the river, and poison still runs through its earthy veins. But now it is protected.

I wonder Mom, if Tim had learned of the healing nature of meandering in the wild sooner, if his life may have been different?

And so it goes, we learn, we get lost, we change.

For whatever reason, I was up before the crack of dawn this morning – wonderful to have a day off, and not be all panicky about having to return to some hell-hole call centre world tomorrow. HALLELUJAH.

Anywho, haven’t quite decided what I’m going to do today, but probably just putter about. Just waiting for the sun to warm things up alittle, and I do believe I may take another swing around the Coves, perhaps.

I can’t wait to see it in winter. All blanketed in whiteness. I don’t even recall the last time I saw the Old Orchard in winter. How strange.

Well, chatty here should sign off, this is becoming alittle long-winded. I’m so glad I started these letters to you though. This may be a rather unconventional medium, and I do miss our long talks, yet this helps me to miss you just alittle less.

I think lately these long walks actually bring me alittle closer to Tim, even though these wilds are miles away from Grey.


Love Paula


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