Early summer in the city and I start my days in the paradise of our back yard. There is a soft coo of turtle doves in the air, the high chirps of sparrows and robins. The mornings are cool and fresh, pungent with lilacs – May has given us a series of purple and white blooms.
Heading down to work on my bike, the sun has risen a little higher into bright towering blue sky days.
Passing through the cool of Allan Gardens park, the homeless guys are still on their benches, emerging from sleeping bags and newspaper blankets, starting their daily routines.
Out onto Sherbourne St, the summer emerges in full force – the streets are starting to exude that heat, the concrete gathering up the suns rays and radiating back a thick smelly weight of warmth.
Taxis cruise by, lazily looking for fares, windows down, music wafting with nostalgia for Pakistan or Jamaica or Senegal or Colombia – mini-worlds on wheels.
A woman – a face perhaps from Yemen, shy and distrustful – holds her head scarf at her throat as she crosses the street.
Groups of men sit outside the soup kitchen, arguing loudly, passing the time, waiting for the next meal to be served.
If it is this warm in May, people say, what will it be like in July and August?
follow your nose 