Oases and rain

The spring rains continue, and the Rideau Valley Conservation Authority predicts flooding in some low areas along the Rideau River near Kemptville.  I have sloshed through half my vacation, and it doesn't appear that my shoes will dry anytime soon.

Yesterday I did a little walking tour around downtown and the market, running a few errands, but mostly exploring small shops and back alleys.  I wandered into the Papiery, thinking to buy an "S" ink stamp for Sue to use on her correspondence.  The Papiery has moved once or twice over the years, and I'd lost track of it.  I zig-zagged quickly through the short aisles, admiring the look and feel of the stationary, and then emerged through the back into Tivoli Florists.

I hadn't realized the Papiery and Tivoli Florist now shared the same premises.  I've also shopped at Tivoli in the past, purchasing both fresh and dried flowers.  Thinking of my office window, I looked over the potted plants, considering first a small cedar and then an ivy.  However, with several more stops planned, it didn't seem practical to carry a plant around with me.  Stepping out of the Florist's, on the opposite side of the building from which I entered, I emerged into Jeanne D'Arc Court -- and stopped in surprise.

The courtyard was empty of people, but full of song.  The limestone and brick of the surrounding buildings reached upward, walling in and amplifying the bright chipping of house sparrows and the melodius burblings of a house finch.  A pigeon flew up suddenly on a ruffle of wings, like the riffling of pages on a large book.  The buildings muted the sounds of traffic.  A large, stylized bronze bear occupied the center of the courtyard, surrounded by a broad circle of footworn bricks.  A bench appealed under the bare limbs of two small trees, where the sparrows flitted back and forth, and the finch sang on the highest branch.

I sat on the bench, closed my eyes, and spent several minutes listening joyfully to the bird song.  The echoes and the solitude reminded me of sitting with Catherine in Al Ain Fort in the late afternoon -- just the two of us -- under the trees of the cool, central courtyard, with the haunting call to prayer rising distantly above the babbling chorus of songbirds above in the branches and along the whitewashed walls.  We had spent the morning exploring the bare stone of Jebel Hafit, and then retired in the afternoon to the central oasis of Al Ain.  We'd walked under the palms, along the paved lanes between the walled gardens.  After the desert, the oasis seemed impossibly lush, and I understood the love of the Arabs for green places.

I flew home from the trip through Toronto.  Coming low over the rolling countryside, with the winter snows just giving way to spring, I fell in love again with my own landscape -- the green valleylands and woodlots, the promise of abundance in the brown earth of the fields.  All things considered, I can probably live with a little rain.