Dry fountain.

I can hear bells from my spot on the hardwood in the little entrance nook. From where? Je ne sais pas. All I know is that I love the sound of bells. They always remind me of Thun, this little ski village situated on a mountainside in Switzerland where they rang as clear as day when I was there three years ago, and again today in my memory.

Today was one of those days where I said "I am not happy" out loud while Leo slept behind a closed door. Oh no, not again. Too much Julie Doiron in the morning on my walk to work through the fog. It's okay. I finished a letter to Lisa and then began a long and skinny letter to Maude. After that I painted a river and a creek on heavy paper and felt much better.

The sound of bells always helps.

Today after Leo's lunch (messiest mealtime to date [squash hair and a veal beard and raspberry lips] as he has recently learned to projectile spit), we cruised on down to Parc Outremont. It was empty, which I prefer. I was so preoccupied with the idea of opening my latest parcel to arrive in the post a la my mother, that I nearly failed to notice the pond had been drained. And then the great awareness of such a stillness and silence came, like a preview for winter played in a fancy gold and red movie theater of dreams. It rolled right in like a carpet of fog. It made me sad in one way and calm in another. Leo seemed to pick up on the change as well because he looked and looked at the silent fountain and finally screamed in horror. "I hear you pal. I miss it too". I have never lived close enough to a park with a pond and a fountain to notice when it is readied for winter. It was a strange feeling.

Readied for winter. What a thought. It is coming, it is rolling in. Every night, the light clips itself off shrinking faster and faster into the dark of night. We wake in the dark and move around each other haggardly searching the wrong wall for the light switch. I don't mind the rain either. The winter season is inevitable and this year I am surprisingly ready for it. I even have boots.

Time to eat something warm. What? Je ne sais pas. We have no food. But we have spices (thanks Ma). I wish I was just about to sit down to a family meal of overdone beef stew. Oh well. Soon enough. Soon enough! To close, a photo of a trainyard in Vienna taken from a balcony high above. I miss Europe, let's go back.