by Stan Hirst
Misty sun breaks through rising seafog. Chilly breeze stirs from the Salish Sea, whispering messages from distant island forests. Gulls rise; eagles search; scaups bob and scuttle, crows lay low and caw.
Take the Seawalk. Sun behind us. No oil slicks. They’ll come one day. Plod plod plod plod plod. Early morning spandexed nymphs and lyraced gods surge past and on to glory. Used to do that once, I think.
Ships at anchor in English Bay. Seventeen in total. Just keep coming and going. Yokohama, Shanghai, Kaohsiung, Port Klang, Tianjin, Qingdao, Guangzhou, Hong Kong, Nanjing and Frisco Bay. Timber, wood pulp, canola, wheat and phosphate goes; nine-month jeans and plastic dreck comes. Can it endure? Marathassa was a warning. No dilbit yet. Sae let the Lord (and the gate watchers) be thankit.
Snow on Seymour, shining bright, Lions gleaming way up yonder. Look back at Koma Kulshan radiant under the rising sun. What would the lieutenant think today?
Bridge rises high out of the morning swirl. Pearl necklaces of cars twinkle behind the girders, fifty per minute. Corollas, Mercs and Beemers rule, F100’s too. Priuses, Leafs and Teslas lurk. Seaplanes clatter overhead: Comox, Sechelt and Maple Bay. Used to do that too, I think. The seaplanes, not the Teslas.
Coffee time. Time-honoured West Coast tradition rules. Hunch up and elbow through. Stay close behind me Dear: damn’d yuppies got no respect for their Elders. Laptops rule. Tickety tick. Spreadsheets abound. Yak yak yak. Expensive smiles. Condo deals. Colombian dark. Hah!
Back to Seawalk. Sunshine now. Plod plod plod plod plod. See the seal diving just inshore? Searching for a coho. Get past these old people, they’re so damn’d slow. What’s that lingo they’re speaking?
The seawalk’s wet here? It didn’t rain. Waves overtopped the wall. Will happen more and more methinks. Sea levels rising. Climate change? Indeed. How come it rains more in rainy places, snows more in snowy places, but just drought and death in Darfur? No fairness there.
Reached the pier, time for a breather. Three shiny otters lounge on the pontoon deck. There’s no plastic on the water, no plastic on the beach, coffee dregs in my personal mug.
Happy New Year!
And Happy New Year to you, Stan!
Thanks, Stan
That pretty well describes it for me too.
One thing: I believe they are already shipping dilbit through the existing pipeline. Quietly. The issue is whether or not they will triple the flow, and the number of tankers.
A question; what happens to us when the benzene spills and vaporizes and floats up to our lungs? That doesn’t seem to come up much in the discussions.
Alex