Between the drone of an arterial road and the empty monuments of globalized real estate: a ravine. A green defile of fern and hemlock so narrow and brief that it almost wasn’t there at all; a gap in the continuum.
I followed the steep trail down. The traffic noise fell off then all but disappeared as I arrived at what felt like the bottom of a bowl.
I could hear water: the ghost of Macdonald’s stream, hidden beneath the path.
A raven, throat-singing from the trees. I waited for it to show, heard its wings beating the air and caught a brief glimpse of a blue-black giant.
A wee refuge from the franchised grid-space, made colossal by its unlikeliness.