If I ever leave Ontario, I already know the time of year, the kind of day, even the hour that will make me miss it most. It's the golden hour on certain days of fall. It makes sense of everything in this city and it makes the summers that swelter and the tundra winters all worthwhile.
On Friday, I took the ferry Ongiara over to Ward's Island. We had a brief window, to stroll and look at houses, to see the island suffused in light coppered and golden. There's something off-kilter about most of the houses on the island (and one would guess, some of their inhabitants). The walls and roofs are all akimbo and overgrown.
As the sun set, we drank a pumpkin ale and speculated about silly things. We strolled some more and then caught the ferry back in the dark.