Heaven is in Montreal

Where do you think heaven is? In Montreal, on a gorgeous autumn day, sitting on the grass of Mont-Royal park. 27C (80F) before humidex yesterday Thanksgiving Sunday. 24C today and the sun smiling all day.

The sounds of heaven? Life sounds, some traffic but mostly human murmurs, laughters, talk, dogs barking, the metallic sound of a baseball bat connecting perfectly to the ball in the distance to the rumblings of applause, an (american) football being caught back and forth not far from me, bicycles being ridden in the gravely path, some gulls objecting in the sky.

The sights of heaven? Couples surreptitiously drinking wine, sleeping, kissing or cuddling innocently by the remnants of a picnic, cyclists taking a rest, children rolling down the hill on their sides, two dads each pushing a pink stoller, students with laptops or cellphones, dogs pulling their owners towards the desired trees, three youths chatting and laughing (a modern version of Un déjeuner sur l'herbe de Manet, but no naked woman here, just some light summer dresses and neon red hair.)

And what about heaven? Well, a freshness in the air just cool enough to remind us of winter coming and the finitude of such moments, traffic sounds just loud enough to remind us of tomorrow morning, soil just humid and cold enough to be slightly uncomfortable. A heaven just imperfect enough to be savoured and cherished every second. Next to that, an eternal bucolic perfect heaven sounds just so... boring.

I know, I know, more trees and parks. Well it is this time of the year, so get used to it.