The tiny streets
of Quebec City
wind
d
o
w
n
little mountains and
through my imagination.

All alone -
very early morning.
The wisps of dawn still
floating misty in the air.
Patches of brilliant snow
on the narrowest sidewalks -
streets damp from drizzles of rain.

My thoughts wind up and down
the deceptive hills of
your clandestine meetings-
secretive behaviours.
My intuitions stronger
than your cryptic words-
My strength fortified
like the old stone gates
of this old city.
A different city -
A different perspective.

Wandering around and
talking with
the local residents and storekeepers
reassures me
of the normalcy of everything -
sends me miles away
from your cruel actions.

I roam the hills of old houses,
camera in hand,
with a fresh perspective.

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