I’m walking on West Mount Royal Avenue coming out of the Gateway building heading west towards Bunting. Barely noticing architectural of high rising in the background of green and gray allies. The scenery is spectacular compared to being from the south; the trees and plants seem almost alien to me. I chew up the majestic aroma of early autumn fumes in my mouth; my tongue masticating the particles and fragrance of colorless taste. My nose detecting and discovering the newly laid cow dung fertilizer Mica acquired. It’s nasty! the ground reek of unpleasantly fouls enough to reach the high heaven. When I’m walking I like to envision myself walking into a dense pine forest, anxiously waiting for an animal to appear from the bushes. Then my steps halted and silence replaced the harmonized melody of my breath and boots; my mind feeling mute to such a pure experience, as I left all worries and thoughts behind in that meditative moment. Never forgetting that connection with nature, one I have always yearned to understand.

The mica lawn is not very diverse to the naked eye, but dig deeper and you'll see a world before your eyes. This world compose of a micro environment that is cultivating in a erotic sense. I mean erotic like the dirt was in symbiosis with the roots, and the roots was in symbiosis with the stem, connecting the foliage in a perfect cometic binding. Erotic like the sky and earth was one a first name bases with one another, like they were distance cousins reuniting for the first time, separated by continental land masses. Erotic like the sun and moon were engaged and burning in hot passionate conversations with each other.

The birds flock and dance together in tandem with one another moving with the vibration of the wind; at times they collectively alter positions with the head leader, paving way for a new commander; what a beautiful site to witness. The ants marched like they were part of an orchestra, some carrying little white filaments on their head twice the size of their body; wow my eyes act like dotting dashes across the lawn, following these conductors as they guide tabulated materials into the wound of the earth. The trees although not in bloom still blush in the site of the sun, their leafs so radiant and glowing. Luster shadows of the under belly cover the sidewalks. Falling tear drop of leafs litter the street, dancing rhythmically in the wind with great pleasure.

Morning vapors begins to evaporate, in my side vision a small slender furred bodied animal appear creeping across paved streets. Its a rat computing over and under twenty century automobiles parked one behind the other. Soon the condensed vapor was all gone, but the grass cultivated remaining rain drops of mist on its leafs, saving them as a reminder that its perception of mist was not in vein; each last drop does counts. Running engines of morning traffic car stir hazardous dust matter into the air, wiping the distance away in the landscape. Construction workers beat the ground like caffeinated hammers, cutting into the earth at the side of Brown. Their bodies shiver continuously in unison with the drill, stopping and rapidly going. Sweat trickled down their backs as exuding pores gushily exert anxiety written cells tuck way in middle night chambers.

Finally reaching Bunting, I though to myself what beautiful blaspheme, being able the witness irreverently a scene that very few people often sees. who I’m I to objectify this dynamism of life, I mean, I understand that I’m part of the cycle of life through means of destruction and regeneration, but the forces that morning was beyond my control. Suddenly barrows of chastising shame felled upon me, my guile could not be compared to nature constraint. Instead with open arms I’d embrace the fabrication that my maker granted to me. I know it was my duty to constituent willingly or unwillingly the framework of his creation.