Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Last weekend I caught a glimpse of things I had long forgotten existed - the stars, fresh air, and packing snow (suitable for the construction of big snow balls).

Tonight I walked home from work.

I sucked in car fumes and felt utterly oppressed by the tall buildings looming overhead and blocking any view of the sky.

Though I do, of course, realize that even if the buildings were not there, I wouldn’t see any stars. The light from the stars is drowned out by the bright lights of the:

Big! Exciting! City!

I read that Toronto actually sits on very fertile soil.

I fantasized about taking a huge spoon and cracking the pavement, like I would crack the shell of a soft-boiled egg. I would dig my hands into the freshly liberated dirt and I wouldn’t remove them until they were Properly Dirty.

But make no mistake - this dirt would not be Dirty Dirt. Not that subway pole, gym stairmaster button, waiting room magazine kind of dirt.

This is clean dirt that I crave.

Because sometimes things taste better when we eat with dirty hands. And because we need zinc. And because we’re just a little too unsoiled for our own good.

But we’re certainly not unpolluted.

Need. Air.


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