Stanley Park is peaceful at night.
A group of runners passed Monty and I in silence, except for heavy breathing and slapping of shoes in the shallow puddles. One wore a headlamp that looked like the white bouncing ball in a sing-along movie. As another group of five runners rocketed past, a man’s voice yelled out from the dark, “8:26! 8:27! 8:28! 8:29! 8:30!” I didn’t know what was being timed but it sparked a desire to join them.
I couldn’t stop thinking of the night scenes on the Orca in Jaws whenever I heard the “clang, clang, clang” of sailboats moored at the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club. Live-aboard sailboat resident I will never be.
I watched as the illuminated SeaBus sailed away from the bright Waterfront terminal, like a chunk of ice breaking off from an iceberg.
Monty stared, and I laughed, as the waves agitated the shore rocks which grew long necks and legs and floated off to join the other Canada Geese already in the water.
And I got followed as leaves flickered across a spotlight and moved the eyes of Red-Cedar Bark Man, perched on the top of the totem pole, like a Victorian portrait photograph.
I inhaled Stanley Park for forty-five minutes and exhaled my ten hour work day.
Photo by: m0rph3us0