Robin Redbreast by the grave side

Surrounded by the graves of strangers I feel completely at ease. 

I like to go to the cemetery when I need to clear my head. It's a great place to go when you need to think - it's quiet, steeped in nature, and no one bothers you. It's the only place in the city where people don't stop me to ask for directions. 

I walk along the path between the headstones and think about my week, mulling over my problems, smiling at my victories, and letting the lives of those who've gone before me help me put things into perspective. 

The sun is shining, but despite the pale blue sky I can see the moon. It looks like a small white button that has popped off a shirt and is waiting to be noticed. I stop to admire this scene and take a deep breath, the air almost smells of spring. At once I feel content and at peace until I'm distracted by the flapping of a bird's wing. I turn slowly to locate where the noise is coming from, when all of a sudden the sound multiples all around me. 

Robins, more than I can count, are shooting into the air from beneath the shadows of the headstones at my feet. I stay perfectly still and let them fly past me to a portion of the path ahead. They land haphazardly amongst the stones and I try and count them - five, twelve, sixteen, no, twenty, twenty-one? As soon as I think I've counted them all they move and seem to add more to their ranks. They hop between the graves, poking at the grass, and standing on the stones, all the time flapping their tiny wings. The noise reminds me of waves crashing on a beach, but it doesn't sooth me, instead it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. 

I've never seen this many robins in one spot before, and I'm surrounded by them. Robins have a rich history in folklore, with their blood red breast tying into tales of hell fire and the crucifixion of Christ. But there is another tale that came to my mind as I stood as still as a statue amongst the graves - it is said that if a robin finds a dead body it will cover it with leaves or moss. This lore was depicted in Babes in the Wood, a story from the 1500s, where robins cover the dead bodies of abandoned children with foliage. 

Newly dug graves dot the cemetery where I walk and I wonder if the robins have come to cover them. If lore is to be believed, maybe they are, but I don't stick around to find out. Instead I side step slowly away from the birds, keeping one eye on them and the other on the path that leads me to the street. Every time I move the robins stop flitting about the grass and watch me, so my progress is slow. Their movements and their gaze has unsettled me and my stomach feels like it's fluttering faster than their wings. 

Robins are said to be a sure sign of spring, but in a graveyard maybe they signify something more, something older than lore. 

The woman in the rain

Last week, on a rainy day not unlike the one we're experiencing right now, I was stopped by an old woman all dressed in blue. 

I was hurrying down Yonge Street on my way to work when she caught my eye and beckoned me over to where she was standing on the corner. I removed my ear buds, shifted my book bag about, and asked if she was okay. 

She wanted to know if I was heading to the subway and if I wouldn't mind walking her in that direction. She was old, she explained, and afraid she'd slip on the wet sidewalk, so she needed a steady hand to lean on while she made her way to the bank. I offered her my arm and off we went down the street. 

We were only a block away from her destination, so I didn't think this would take much time until we started walking. And by walking, I mean shuffling, at a pace slower than I thought possible. Suddenly this city block seemed like a 1000 mile journey and time began to slow and stretch before me - this was going to be a long walk. 

As she carefully put one foot in front of the other, arm looped with mine, she pointed out how wet everything was, how slick the sidewalk had become with the rain, and how the pavement seemed to slant towards the road. Despite having lived in this neighbourhood for almost eight years and having walked this stretch of road countless times, I'd never noticed the slant in the sidewalk until she pointed it out. "Why do they build sidewalks like this?" She asked me. "It's quite dangerous, you could slip into the road." 

We made pleasant conversation as commuters rushed around us on their mad dash to the train. She asked if I was in school, or if I was heading to work. Did I work downtown? Was my commute awful? I asked her how she managed in the winter when the sidewalks were icy and covered in snow. "Winter is hell," she said. As someone who has landed butt deep in slush on an icy run to work, I couldn't help agreeing with her. 

When we got to the corner she asked if I could help her cross the street. By this time I was already ten minutes late for work, so I said "of course", and we began our snail-like amble across Yonge. A very busy Yonge, in the midst of rush hour traffic, with construction dominating one corner and buses roaring past on Eglinton spraying pedestrians with gritty puddle water. The orange hand on the cross walk started to flash its countdown and we were barely half way through the road. She must have felt my arm tense because she quietly said "we'll make it" as she continued to shuffle by my side. Our time ran out and cars gingerly drove around us as we completed our crossing. 

We finally made it to the bank and she squeezed my arm and thanked me three times for my help. I asked if she'd be okay getting home, and she said she'd manage. "Manage" being the operative word here. A walk that would have taken me less than two minutes had taken us almost fifteen to complete. A road that I wouldn't balk at to cross suddenly seemed like a horrifying obstacle course when I looked at it through the eyes of this little, grey-haired lady dressed in blue. I told her to have a good day, but I couldn't help but wonder how good it would be if there wasn't anyone to help her. This city isn't set up to accommodate people who move slower than the average rat-race clip and I worried about how long it would take her to get home. 

I ended up being very late for work, but I learned a valuable lesson, which made my tardiness seem worthwhile. For the past week I've been trying to see things through the eyes of the little old lady in blue in attempt to observe more and appreciate the ease of my youth. I've slowed down my commute so I can observe my surroundings, like the slant in a sidewalk, or how quickly my neighbourhood is growing. And today, I took out my earbuds and listened to the rain patter on my umbrella as I walked. It was a nice sound, and I slowed to a shuffle. 

Renoir, the man knew how to paint an umbrella.