If you go into the woods today...

One of the many, many things I love about Toronto, is that you can go from bustling urban metropolis to wild natural habitat within just a few minutes. One minute you’re on the concrete sidewalk, cars whizzing by you, the sounds of the city (construction, ambulances, aeroplanes) closing in and assaulting your senses,  and the next minute, you’re standing with your feet in the dirt, tangled vines cocooning you, giant trees dwarfing you and... nothing... silence... except for the chirping of birds and the psychotic chatter of a pissed-off squirrel nearby. (Squirrels seem to spend a lot of time pissed-off; I don’t know why, that’s just the way it is).

 

 

 

Just mere steps from our apartment lies a sprawling mass of parklands in the Don River valley, and this is where we walk our dogs every day. Trails branch out for miles in every direction, and you can walk for ages without leaving the protection of the trees and the reassuring burbling of the river. The parklands are filled with birdlife and smaller critters (mostly squirrels, groundhogs, mice and racoons). There have even been talk of deer-sightings, but this is brushed off as the stuff of urban myths. Muggle loves swimming in the river, and Dobby has become obsessed with those damn squirrels – this valley is their happy place. We literally have to drag them out of it at least twice a day when we head for home after walks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A great thing too is that I mostly feel safe walking here. I don’t want to draw comparisons between here and Joburg, but I know that I wouldn’t have felt safe walking the dogs alone at Emmarentia Dam during the week when the park is mostly deserted. It’s just one of those things.

However, no place in the world is totally safe, and you get psychopaths everywhere – Canada is no exception. All you need to do is look at the excess of body parts that have been turning up all over Canada to realise that Canadian psychos are just as active as South African psychos. And they especially love parks. Nice.

So even when I’m walking alone along a quiet trail, feeling safe, there’s always a part of me that’s a bit nervous. And this isn’t my South African part; this is the side of me that went through a hectic psychological-thriller reading phase for a few years. The side that knows you never walk past panel vans, because their doors will slide open and you will be shoved inside by homicidal maniacs. Also the side of me that knows that the excess skin that flaps under my arms when I do the YMCA can be turned into a cute little purse for some fashion-conscious weirdo with a sewing machine.

Which is why I completely and utterly shat myself yesterday when walking along one of the more isolated trails in the valley, and something large suddenly leapt out at me from behind a bush.

To be continued... Not to create suspense (I’m clearly alive and not dismembered if I’m writing this) but because this is a long story. Like most of my stories. Deal with it.