Would it be wise to disturb a Monday’s disappointed dawn: the Sabbath observed, if not the yardwork, a slice of beach taken, bitten off, carried away with the towels? And the savage hike through the well-groomed park on a trail parted with pomade. There’s trillium there, a few soft stones. The ferns unfurl like violins and scrape along the birdsong, though in between strokes, the downbeat of doves emptying garbage cans.

Image: Sandy Millar on Unsplash

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