There was a maple syrup festival in Perth. A bit of serendipity too, because I had just run out of my last cache of real maple syrup, stored in a bottle of Crown Royal my mom gave me.
Perth is a great for a getting to visit a small town without having to drive too far. We missed the pancake breakfast in the morning, but made up for it by having maple sausages.
I bought me a bottle of amber maple syrup. Apparently, it’s thicker and richer than the regular maple syrup.
Found footage, captured with my small CCD camcorder. It struggles in low light situations, but when I brought up the levels in post, out came this amazing grain that gives it such a wistful texture.
When watching this, my eyes tend to gravitate to her hands; the way she moves them with a light, but firm touch, whether it’s getting Dolly to sit down, or brushing cat hair from her nose. They were artists hands. Not particularly striking, but filled with delicate dexterity. Sometimes, I’d kiss the tip of each finger, and she’d tease me by pulling her hand away before I could finish.
It must have been one winter morning, after a run out to Second Cup with their holiday-themed paper cups, watching The Blue Planet in the comfort of a blanket with a cat by our side.
Only after finding this footage did I start to believe that my memories were real, and not just imaginations caught between the haze of desire and denial.
Even if only for a few moments, as wonderful as they were fleeting, one of them captured in 24 frames per second.
From the visitor centre we check the relief map for our trail. As I’m signing in, Heather G notices my date of birth is in the 80s. I’m the only one, and they joke about how young I am — especially compared to Benoît, who’s a sixties baby — but it never feels like we’re far apart in heart and mind.
We carpool to the closest lot, and strap on our packs for the hike to the cabin.
The trail is fairly easy, and paved most of the way. It’s a very welcome detail when you’re carrying sleeping gear, rain gear, extra clothes, eating/cooking implements, camera equipment, several days worth of food, enough water to keep you hydrated on the way there, and your pack is over 25% of your body weight.
It’s been an emotional time. I’m in anti-social mode, but I force myself to get out when the opportunity comes along.
One day, we hit up a diner around noon. I wore my flip-flops, and cruised west with the wind numbing my skin. My stereo gets louder as I accelerate, and it only made me drive as fast as I could to see how loud I could push Wild Gardens. For a moment, it filled me with serene bliss, and that was enough, among the steel and pavement and summer heat in spring, to give me hope.
It’s that feeling I’ve been craving. To be the only living boy in New York.
Audra tells me I smell nice when I haven’t left the house for days. Gives me the breath-stealing hugs. And the fact that she’s so sensitive about crossing my boundaries makes her the sweetest redhead I know. It’s hard not to believe in myself when she believes in me so well.
Continue reading “Please make me feel alive, again, again, again”…