Yesterday evening, in real life, I participated in the Ride of Silence, a slow, silent bike ride to Toronto City Hall, in memory of cyclists who have died on our streets. I was in a tender, pensive mood when I got home. I'm not at all surprised that last night, I dreamt about my recent and semi-recent travels, as if scrolling back through an album of photographs to relive being elsewhere. The scenes I imagined in my dreams were Argentinas and New Yorks I'd never actually visited.
In my false New York, I made a friend, and we walked together through all sorts of landscapes, until we paused to talk about our shoes. I was wearing serviceable Dansko clogs--identical to the pair I'd actually bought, in New York, in real life, only two weeks ago. She was wearing clogs of a different sort. They had high heels made of wood that were oddly shaped, sort of like chisels. They were made of leather the colour of the soil in P.E.I., and they featured strange mudflap on the outer side. She let me put them on and they were uber-comfortable.
After the shoe episode, we went to a cafe for pastries. And why not!
That is all.
