Drifts

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July 3, 2021 by ellie892

January 3rd to 5th, 2020

I’m the last one to depart for the plane after it lands in Montreal. Take my time lingering behind. It is still early and there is no rush. I enter an empty area and the immigration gates are free. It was a short flight from the USA and everyone seemed to be in a hurry. I hired a taxi to the Public Storage where I parked my plain, sad, silver, old sedan. It is there covered in a snowbank so I ask for a shovel and an attendant comes out to remove the drifts of snow that have collected over the past three months. I have to report back to Canada every ninety three days for travel insurance purposes. Thought of applying for EU residency – perhaps. Skip all this travelling back and forth, but work needs to be done. 

After the snow has been swept off, I slide into the driver’s seat to see if the engine will turn. After a few pumps on the gas pedal, it works and I let it run while stepping outside to call insurance to let them know I’m back on the road and I’ll be driving. It works and I stop by the office to settle my accounts and leave. 

Driving along the freeway into the city is strange. It’s so wintery but Montreal is beautiful and I take my time because my son will be at work until 4p.m. that day, so I drive along Sherbrooke Street to the Hotel de Paris – where I have a reservation. I park near a snowbank and I’m so early that I get to enjoy their wonderful breakfast. How I love these places. 

Not much happened in the three days I was there. Visited with my son. We met for meals and walks in the icy streets. Some nights I’d go to the convenience store on the corner and buy a can of corn with a peel back lid. Sit on the bed of the small black and white room and watch the CBC. Not really paying too much attention to anything. They say this is a warm winter. When we do meet for our last dinner, my son talks of how he would like to find someone he can take to nice restaurants like the one we are in next to the hotel. He dreams of love. I hope he finds it. The next afternoon, I leave and head toward the 401 back to Windsor. 

tell of love and winter

moon light on streets

etched by snow tires

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Poetry/Travel

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