The Sap Runs Slow: Refuge as The Fall Sets In

My grandmother used to say that the Fall was hard because the sap in the trees begins to run slowly. While I was never really sure what she meant, as the warm weather has fled Toronto and left us with the cold, I feel like my blood has become sap from a deeper tree. Life seeks shelter in the heavier root vegetables, underneath the thickened blankets and inside the deep smells from the warm places. I have been lucky enough to find a few fleeting moments of healing energy, but as the Vampire Lestat mocks Louis as he tries to survives on the blood of little creatures: “It gets cold so fast.”

Despite the dropping temperatures and barometer, where I want to be tonight is deep in the woods inside a makeshift cabin underneath woollen blankets. I am jealous of those who can escape the city to retreat to their cottage. Algonquin was my retreat when I first came to Toronto, but without a car, Panther Lake is just not possible – leaving an unsecured motorcycle at the foot of a trail is asking for it not to be there at the end of the weekend.

So I will finish the night out by taking the last of my latest Paderno work: a series of choppers and containers. The best I can do tonight is to snuggle with Mingus, make a deeply earthy roast vegetable stew, and hope that morning is kind.




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