The Borders of Our Tranquility
Some of you may recognize the colonnade behind the hot pink froth of zinnias as that of Toronto’s Exhibition Place. If you look closely, you’ll see that something is a little off. The American flags are there for a film shoot, and that’s fine and all - this city is often referred to as “Hollywood North” - but in my morning grog state as I took the dog for a walk down to the lake and discovered the stars and stripes where the maple leaves ought to be, and in the context of all that’s going on down south, I have to admit it felt a little jarring.
What might have felt simply amusing this time last year landed differently. Even though I knew it meant nothing, in the current context of unrest and escalating tension south of the border, I had a split-second, silly thought: “Wait—what? Did they annex us overnight? Did I miss something?”
Unhinged? Probably. But in my defence, I’d only had half a cup of coffee. And a writer’s best friend is her wild imagination.
As promised to myself, I dove headfirst into writing my first novel as the new school year began. It’s been two productive weeks of work on The Borders of Our Tranquility, a title that came to me a while ago when I used it for a collection of poems submitted to PEN Canada that was not selected by the jury. The title came to me when I asked myself what those poems - written over several months - had in common, thematically. It turns out that even before experiencing the summer of the helicopter, I had been thinking a lot about borders, about peace and conflict, about the ways in which we need certain boundaries and might be better served by doing away with others. Two weeks ago, when I started, I had nothing but the inkling-concept of this title, and now the world of BOT is peopled with characters I know and love and whose relentless quest for peace and justice in a chaotic world leads them to fuck with some dangerous borders.
So it was pretty stunning to me when, while looking for gigs that would allow me to get my hands dirty here in Toronto, I stumbled across Tranquility Garden Design and recognized an old pal hard at work in a few of their pictures. I called him up, and a week later I was invited by his lovely boss to join them for a few days of planting a lush, green oasis in a midtown backyard. I can not emphasize how good it is to have been given the opportunity to balance the writing life (clean hands, sore bum from sitting too many hours at a time at my desk, head full to cracking with plot holes and metaphors and plausible character motivations) with some gardening work (dirt, water, chlorophyll, worms, birdsong, sweat and sore muscles).
I am looking very much forward to a wee respite from the city next weekend when I’ll be back in Québec and hosting the first ever gathering of the Blooming Valley Garden Club! See details here. And I’m hoping to spend some time forest-bathing/river-dipping/maybe spying on deer like the “he” in this gorgeous short poem by Michael Escoubas:
Tranquility
It is first light
his favorite time of day
when the world is still
save for a twig-snap
by an awakening deer
or the slap of a beaver's tail
yonder where the stream
bends and eddies into a pool.
Day emerges softly,
mosses, ferns, and wildflowers
perfume misty air with
breathless spices anointing life
in one unrepeatable moment
when man and Nature become
a single being—a warmth, a light,
a power, wrapped in Nature's shawl.
