There are 2 here. One from Nov 9th, and one from the 12th. The first one is kinda conceptual with description at the end. The Second one is more my observations on what I saw around me. If you're looking for a lighter read I recommend the second. Not that the first read is particularly heavy.
(Nov 9)
I'm sitting in the Starbucks in Cook St. Village. There is an amazing diversity of people in here: age difference, income difference, style difference. There are people in a hurry, and people who are taking their time. For some people this place is a pit-stop; for others a destination.
Many standards and rules are externally taught and fought to be maintained. They are not natural realities but alien ones. Constructs created to assist but once the creators forget their role in creation the creation itself controls.
Realizing this, moving forward, is a part of the learning and discerning that is the progression of living.
External standards of beauty presented and imposed by culture, are taken and embraced by populace. What is beauty really? It is difference. It is diversity. But it is more.
Beauty is, and we are blessed that looking see.
Beauty is all around. In the growth, death, and rebirth. In cycles. In the complexity of life, and the simplicity. There is beauty in the alpine meadow, vibrantly aflame with vast tumultuous waves of wild flowers, sparse stands of spruce sentinels green with stubby short branches, and grouse making funny grouse sounds in the bush. There is beauty in the muddy, slimy, odorous fen, alive with vast numbers and kinds of organisms constantly at work in the processes of decomposition, growth, life change, beauty. The diversity, beauty, and colours, present when the rain falls and out forth burst funky fragile friendly fungi. The birds that flicker and fly about, consuming the numerous insects and fruits of that festerous fen, overlap and entwine in the complicated rhythm of survival. Death that life may live.
(Nov 12)
I'm sitting outside, under an awning, in a chair, while a steady light rain falls to the ground, that which surrounds Starbucks.
Across the Cook Street divide lies an alternative coffee shop. The Mocha House. Their outside patio is larger, more permanent, and provides great protection from the elements.
A little bird, followed promptly by more little birds, flys to the ground near my feet. Now they roam and graze like so many little bison; with wings.
A little old lady walks by, umbrella in hand. Grasped tightly in the other are a series of boxes, 3?, and she attempts to protect all under the inadequate protection from the rain alighting down on high. Why? Because even though perfection will not be attained she and her charge will arrive home drier than otherwise. So it is a success.
We've now left the open noise and traffic's whir for the cloistered cacophony of voices and dishes, chair scrapes and spoon stirs, that surround and immerse inside. From the one corner a wheeze becomes a laugh which transitions into a cough. The rainy season has come and the colds, runny noses, and seasonal assorted fluids, are not enough to dampen spirits. Of course we're less than a month in. The veterans of this west coast life are tempered and prepared for what will come with the wisdom and experience of years. Whoa to the poor people who will fight, complain, and attempt to change the natural and necessary by railing against the Sky Gods. Their prayers, though fervent, may they be unanswered.
A lady walks by hand in hand with a gentleman. This is cute. Is is nice. However the first thing noticed in this distinguishing looking couple is the lady's wet coast flair; a bright neon orange rain poncho. Both the poncho and the pair bring some radiant brightness to the street, contrasted against the subdued gray of above and the victorious light that, having won it's way through the clouds, dimly illuminates that which surrounds Starbucks.
Across the street the neon red/orange and blue open sign proudly proclaims the status of the Cook Street Village Wine Works. Inc.
Meanwhile some intrepid puckish sort of individual, having taken their wit and will and combined them with a dash of humour and what appears to be a jiffy marker, has altered the second "o" on the Cook Street sign marking the corner intersection of Pendergast Street and Cook Street.
Here ends my description of that which surrounds Starbucks. Now found at the intersection of Pendergast Street and Cock Street.
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