That is so sad, I pondered on my rock as the lady walked back into the forest with her big, black dog and her white, fluff ball that quite reminds me of my Dad's dog, Sammy.

This is the rock I came to every day for two weeks last year. It is very reminiscent. A nice ledge overlooking the ripply, bubbly, cool water. To my left is the water plant and surrounding me is bush trees which creek of winter death. Hard, shriveled blueberrish balls lie everywhere amongst the trees and rocks while the wind blows gently in my face. I am smelling, sensing, and experiencing nature all around me and it is wonderful.

I clamber through the trees, shielding my face to avoid sharp branches. I don't mind if they rip my clothes, but the face needs to be protected by somewhat of a barrier. The last thing I need is a nice hunk of my cheek missing in action. I make my way to edge of the road where I see the sun shining high up in the crisp, blue sky. Birds chirp jollily in the trees to one another while a motorcycle roars off in the distance.

I scuff my feet in the gravel and check out my muddy, white sneakers that have seen better days. Under the bridge and around the bend towards the town street I go.

A garbage can with a graffiti pot leaf stand in my wake. Looks more like a Christmas tree if you ask me. As I approach the town I feel a shift in the atmosphere. No more peaceful, serene woodsy setting. I am back to the hustle and bustle of cars and people in my quaint, little town.

I check my cell-phone for message and receive one from a slightly drunk (isn't he always? seems like it has blended with his being to become his personality or maybe it is his personality?), John. He pretends to be Mr. Burns on the message and it makes me giggle. His witty (or not so depending on how you look at it) antics make me smile.

I walk to the closest dollar store realizing how much of a knob I am since I left the house without a pad of paper. I would go home, but I enjoy wasting money as much as the next individual. I guess it's not really wasting, but I do like spending. Lord only knows why I would leave the house with only Fifth Business, a pen, and my wallet in my purse. I used up the three blank pages torn out of the back of my novel and am on the hunt for more word space.

Damn dollar store says $5 minimum on interact purchases so I have to buy some pens and gum along with my paper to allow it to go through. Always can use pens and gum though, right? Meh, I guess so anyways. I do the best to comfort my mind and strained bank account. It's worth it, I tell myself. It's all for the writing so it has to be worth it.

I pop into Timmy's for a quick caffeine fix. Must. not. tip. her. GAH! Why must I always feel compelled to tip them over half of what the coffee is worth?? No wonder I am so broke all the time! Geeps!

As I sit down in the homey little coffee hut to sip and savour in delight I watch the Grandma's and Grandpa's with their grandchildren. All of them licking medium coffees out of the Tim Horton's ceramic mugs. K.D. Lang beats overhead as I smack my gum. Something feels right about this atmosphere. Are these my people? I think that they are perhaps. My coffee companions.

I leave after deciding the coffee needs time to cool and head out on my journey. I stumble across my friend, Lisa, leave work and decide to hitch onto a conversation with her (I actually ended up walking across town with her to drop her off at her house). The conversation was quite enthusiastic and interesting. Always love hearing about the photos she develops in which people have taken pictures of their penises for God knows what reason.

After I head home. When I get there I am summoned. But that's a whole other story I will drone on about later...