A Reminiscence

It feels like a summer night in Toronto. 

I remember biking home on those nights. Maybe we were setting out from somewhere in the west. Maybe Dundas and Davenport, maybe Market St, maybe I’d just played baseball in Coronation Park. The night would always be warm and humid - a cool finger of air coming off the lake, and out of the forested parks as we rode. 

Always, the corridors of light through downtown. Always, the darker streets and old trees at Cabbagetown. Always, the thrum of traffic as we crossed the DVP from west to east. A sensation of energetic tranquility. And then the softer orange lights along Dundas, or Danforth, or Lakeshore. 

Always, the hill to climb on Gerrard past Coxwell. Sometimes it was a slog, sometimes we flew. Finally, we would arrive in our darkened third floor treehouse apartment that looked over the dog park. 

In the winter we could see the lake from the roof, but on those summer nights, it felt like magic was in the treetops and I never wanted to go to sleep.