Hyla Levy


Imagine when there were woolly mammoths where now there is Yonge Street. The lakes became old long before cities began. Glaciers clawed out hollow pools; ages before there were people, eons before there were condos, office blocks and campuses. Before the sunshine got trapped in the grids of soaring glass. Today if you take the subway, a train and then a bus, if you then walk for a little while, you may come to a sandy beach with clean water. It is the end of summer. If you swim the water will be warm till it comes up to your knees. Slide forward and feel the chill. Dive and see the light playing in the water, splattered over the eddying sand below you. It is the colours of glass; the exact palette of those downtown skyscrapers only liberated from their tidy lines and planes. When you return to the city you will see the colours of the lake souring into the sky.

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