The Rivening

Evening Song & Sawhorses

EVENING SONG

The next morning's drizzly, cold weather didn't deter Connie from her ravine walk. Having spent countless hours traipsing around archaeological sites as a child, and later living in the north woods with her grandparents, she wasn't put off by a little inclement weather.

Connie didn't own a car, so was pleased when she discovered that an entrance to the Taylor Creek ravine was a short walk from her house. The ravine hooked into the vast network of meandering trails and parkland that snake through Toronto. The woods and wetlands surrounding the creek created a lush, verdant escape from city sights and sounds.

The first few times Connie walked on the ravine trail, she noticed dirt paths wandering off into the trees and assumed they were short-cuts perhaps made by teenagers, or homeless people taking up residence in corners of the ravine in warmer months. Coming upon the pond was an unexpected discovery. The dirt path ended at a small, natural stone and earthen jetty that poked out in the water and afforded a wonderful spot for viewing the wetland wildlife. Turtles lazed on rocks, mallards paddled around, and a heron, probably the one that led her to the pond, was tiptoeing through the tall grass on the far side.

One benefit of this morning's lousy weather was that few people were out walking, and no one was back at the pond. She would not hold back today but let it happen. Her breathing slowed and deepened. The tremor started in her hands. She held them out, palms up and gently tipped back her head, all her senses opening up to take in the pulse of the place. The mesmerizing vibration washed over her, enveloping her, as familiar and comforting as she remembered, though it happened an ocean away. She braced herself against whatever seemed to be drawing her from the far side of the pond.

She'd only experienced the trances a few times before, and only in Ireland. The first time she was nine, accompanying Ida and Findley to the dig where they went in the summer. Wandering around, Connie came upon a spot where she felt a soft, comforting pulse. She kept returning to stand longer and longer in the place that triggered the sensation. Findley dismissed the trances as a weird, quirky kid thing Connie was doing to get attention. At first, Ida left her alone, but got uneasy about Connie's behaviour and finally forbade her from going to the spot.

The second time Connie felt the trance was the summer after she got her BA in archaeology. Findley took her to Ireland as a graduation present. Toward the end of their visit, Findley became eager to have Connie show him where the trances happened when she was little. This perplexed her, given how dismissive he had been before. After some wandering around, she located the spot for Findley but felt awkward and held herself back from going in too deeply.

Connie didn't know how much time passed when she heard a scuffling noise behind her. She dropped her arms and turned around.

Milo stood on the trail.

"Oh, Milo." She stuttered, "I...I guess I looked a little odd. It's just a sort of – meditation - I do."

"That's nice. I'm sorry I disturbed you again. Do you come here every morning?"

"Most days. Are you a nature lover, too?"

Milo laughed, "More like a big city hater. But while I'm here, this is a nice escape, isn't it?"

"It is. I'll leave you to get some peace and quiet. I've been here for a while." Connie moved toward the trail.

She was struck by how she didn't feel embarrassed about Milo finding her deeply trancing by the pond. Would she feel the same if Grayson or one of her other friends saw her like that? Probably not. It was curious; as with her general appearance and quirkiness, Milo seemed out of Connie's normal realm of acquaintances. Not that she had much of a realm.