There’s something deeply satisfying
about exploring the world on foot.

When my years were in single digits,
I explored the city of Victoria.
It was my home, it was my mother’s birthplace,
and it felt big but usually also friendly.
It was the right size for me, perhaps.

Most of my dreams are of personal journeys,
on foot most often, down blocks,
or along endless hallways.
I’m always looking for something
or late for something, and unprepared.
It means that life can be mysterious
and unpredictable, and often lonely.

Just a week ago, I walked a few miles around Victoria,
down the tourist strip, through Beacon Hill Park,
where I’d played as a kid and marvelled at the peacocks,
and walked way up Cook Street, past the sites of both
of my grandfather’s long-demolished homes.

It made me reconsider what the words “home”
and “memory” are really worth
when most of the landmarks from my
neighbourhood had disappeared
after forty years.

But on this little real-world journey, my wife was with me,
and as we walked, we joked some old jokes, bickered in the heat,
and debated our directions, and i was not alone,
and the past was something that happened to
someone else, a long time ago.

Most cities are in some constant state
of reinvention and transformation.
This city and its occupants are no different.
We’re going somewhere – together.