Late nights at the library

I came down from the mountain and went to my little house. It was much as I left it, neat in its messy, bare sort of way. Simple, temporary. I arranged some fall squash on the counter with a ring of chestnuts, ate some unremarkable food and headed out into the night time. Lots of people in my neighbourhood freaking out, as usual, generally in their own quiet ways. It's getting cold now but Shelly wasn't wearing her shoes. She'll be alright though, Shelly is long-term crazy and knows how to get around. Past the things that are open at this hour between the early and the late. Cafes offer warm beacons for lively ideas to float about and lonely people who clutch their coffee cups at 9 at night. What are they staying up for and what is shifting behind those watery old eyes? Grocery stores, convenience stores, darkened restaurants and various other holes to crawl into, my stride is quick past them all tonight. I finally ended up here, maybe to reinforce my solitude by checking on everyone who isn't here. To open emails and not know what to say. To try to remember the clarity I felt on the mountain, in the forest, I wanted to write something about it down before it fizzled away. I can feel this little place pulsing all around me with connections, memories, faded tendrils floating around my life, ensnaring it. I can remember the first time I climbed Mount Douglas, how proud Kerria and I were to find Beacon Hill Park, discovering QV's, the cage under the Johnson Street Bridge. So many little places, pockets of memory, delight and discovery, places that I still love. People that I still love. So when did we get so tired, set in our ways? When did we decide that we'd learned it all, knew what to expect? My time is counting down now, a minute left before the library closes and I'm still where I started