Long long ago, a tiny bit of heaven broke off and fell on Earth. It had lakes that spangled with sunshine , mountains that shimmered with purple leaves and the only people who added maple syrup to everything. It now goes by the name of Canada.
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All around me, there are dancing little cobwebs formed by sunshine that managed to pierce through the thick canopy above. I note again for the umpteenth time that the trees here are really, really tall. I look above to see green circles rising conically to the sky. I feel safe, far away from concrete troubles in the land of tall trees, humming birds and a singing sun.
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'Look!', K's grand-aunt points to the distance beyond a babbling brook. We all freeze in a moment of awe. Standing there, enclosed in a mushy swamp of bright blueberries, is a wild moose. He stands looking at us, with the doleful eyes of a curious cow. His ears and horns look so soft, as if someone gave him a pair of Christmas party horns to wear. We tread carefully away, not wanting to distract him by taking pictures. On the way back I make a serious decision that if I ever had a pet moose I would call him Moussaka.
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- Transcribed, scribbled notes from Nova Scotia, Canada.
2 comments:
lovely! how you been, looks like you are foraying 'officially' into travel writing now. all the best!
@ Ms. N..Thanks for the feel-good comment :D
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