Neighbourhood's

After two in the morning, I was awake, trying to read an Interlingua book, Le torno del mundo in octanta dies, by Jules Vernes. But the lamp in the living room was too dim. I ate a few pieces of Italian round waffle-like cookies, pizzelle. I went back to sleep on the couch. Later, it was a drizzling morning, cold and clammy, this Boxing Day of 2024. I walked twice to the neighbourhood's Tim Hortons. Firstly, I ate two hash browns, whilst drinking an iced coffee with oat milk. Secondly, I ate a crispy chicken wrap with a glass of blackberry yuzu sparkling quencher. At both occasions, there were Eurasian children, and there were Filipinos that looked handsomely Japanesque. I was exercising with a hand grip strengthener at my table, as I counted to twenty in Esperanto, in each set: "unu, du, tri, kvar,..." In the afternoon, this Boxing Day of 2024, the sun came out of the clouds, the drizzle stopping for the while. An odd cabinet mirror stood by the sidewalk, so I could see my bare legs and mauve garden shoes in the reflection. I walked to Tim Hortons, there to drink an iced coffee with oat milk. The café was crowded. At night, I went back there to eat a roast beef and cheddar sandwich with an oat milk iced coffee. A brown family popped in to break the empty silence. A pensive white man said that I liked the word "blossom": Maybe, he was waiting for spring?

It's the 26th of April of 2025. Before 14:00, a sunny blue-sky afternoon, I went to my neighbourhood's cul-de-sac to meditatively walk around and around there. I admired the gardens. They reminded me of Daoism: how the microcosm reflects the macrocosm: The puffs of sakura would be a nebula afar. One need not really travel too far. Barb my white neighbour was at her driveway. She and her husband Ken would be going out to buy eggs. They eat many eggs.