Kneeling in my reclaimed garden I hear voices. I spy trough the slats in the fence at our neighbours. Petals from the cherry tree snow down on me, my fingers combing the cool soil for stray rocks. In the kitchen the big pot steams curry and the empties pile higher against the wall. Shoes strewn around the door make me so happy. Happy, happy, shoes, people, everybody is here. As I scrub the dirt from my knees and out from under my fingernails I see his bar of soap and her shampoo all lined up.

One evening the sun is low and warm/cool, we're on the deck and we're talking but I'm aching because he's my crush of the moment. Crushing so hard, intensely, thinking of nothing else but cuddling with him all night once again. His family on Salt Spring, his fermenting vats of mead, his smell on my tanktop I refuse to wash.

All day I wean mice, piles of baby mice tumble through my fingers. Wee Peg-Leg the pirate mousekin. Mouse love. A need to love something, a need to take care of someone. If I give enough it will eventually be returned to me. Cure cancer, save a life, and someone will come to hold onto me and save me. Spying through the fence into the future, sowing sweet peas, and when they bloom I'll close my eyes and bury my nose into their sweetpea-wonderful inflorescence.

Until then I look forward to the sunrises on the skytrain. I squint down that gleaming track and wonder at the endless suburbia that is now my chosen home. It gives me the same comfort as the ocean - the sea of red roofs, tv antennas and streaming vehicles. I get swept into the crowd of bustling briefcases and I let myself be carried by it. My body, my hands, my feet comform but my mind is free...