(reflections in writing from October 31st, 2015)
I was there.
I started at the top of McRae Avenue - the headwaters of the river. It was 7am. I was looking for signs of the buried river. How would I know when I found it? Would it jump out at me? Would it be obvious? I was looking for the headwaters of the river - there actually used to be a small lake. I knew it was midway up McRae Avenue, but did not know where.
It had just rained - not so recently that the pavement was wet, most was dry - but so that there were traces of where water had been. But before that, I noticed the trees. This hill has great trees. This hill off the crescent of Shaunessy has great trees. Worn pavement. Sewer covers. Manhole covers? Person-hole covers?
Now I am finding the river. The landscape. An old ravine. Steep slopes terraced on either side of the road. There is an old sewer cover - outflow. Now I hear the river - I look down, a sewer grate with the trickling of water below. The river is still here.
You can see the river.
You can hear the river.
Sometimes I feel I am the river or it is me. Why am I searching for it? Am I searching for me?
And Elder said once, "If you are lost, find the water, it will lead you home."
The headwaters of this river are in the neighbourhood of my first home - the headwaters are at McRae Avenue - McRae is my middle name and was my paternal grandmothers maiden name. She died before I was born. Maybe the water is leading me to her. Or maybe it's not.