Tangled Garden
25/08/08 07:06
Halifax International Airport
It’s 6:05 pm - five hours before I have to board my flight to London.
I drove my rental car around as much as I could to fill in time today,
.
but in the end decided to return it ........
and hang out at the airport. I
had the GPS on for company, like a slightly
obsessive companion wanting to catch a flight
and telling me in a good-humoured but insistent
manner how to get back to the airport at every
turn. I deviated in various interesting
directions. Even following road signs, I ended
up in a field of corn; when the grass on the
track was more prominent than the track, I
decided it was time to do a twelve-point turn.
Dairy farms, red barns, muscley beef cattle grazing, white plastic shrouded round bales like so many fat peppermints, and a surprising cafe on a deserted elbow.
I stopped at a lovely spot called the Tangled Garden.
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Self portrait in a garden
Wicker edging to the kitchen gardens
reminded me of the same woven edging surrounding hidden herb gardens in a monastary in southern France which I visited last year with my niece.
So, farewell to Canada, and onwards I venture. The big question: Will security let my almost empty toothpaste tube through?
It’s 6:05 pm - five hours before I have to board my flight to London.
I drove my rental car around as much as I could to fill in time today,
.
but in the end decided to return it ........
and hang out at the airport. I
had the GPS on for company, like a slightly
obsessive companion wanting to catch a flight
and telling me in a good-humoured but insistent
manner how to get back to the airport at every
turn. I deviated in various interesting
directions. Even following road signs, I ended
up in a field of corn; when the grass on the
track was more prominent than the track, I
decided it was time to do a twelve-point turn.
Dairy farms, red barns, muscley beef cattle grazing, white plastic shrouded round bales like so many fat peppermints, and a surprising cafe on a deserted elbow.
I stopped at a lovely spot called the Tangled Garden.
............................................................Self portrait in a garden
Wicker edging to the kitchen gardens
reminded me of the same woven edging surrounding hidden herb gardens in a monastary in southern France which I visited last year with my niece.
So, farewell to Canada, and onwards I venture. The big question: Will security let my almost empty toothpaste tube through?