Elements

"You two gentlemen look like you can read."
A scruffy middle-aged man in a faded purple shirt reached in and left a flyer on our table. Barely had the time to turn and catch his face as he plodded away. I looked down. An iron fist clutching a cannabis leaf: "Free Marc Emery - Marijuana Solidarity Day" The sun was shining. Stunning headless bodies filed past the patio, faces swallowed up by sunglasses. I tried to squint enough to see only the vague outlines, the bright colours, the wonderful bundles of flesh. The people were young and strung out. I thought of a clothesline being reeled past. Scraps of sidewalk conversation floated up into the sky and the metallic fabric of the streets rumbled past. The glint of the sun sparkled white, reflecting off the noisy cars. I moved side to side, positioning myself behind a telephone pole so the rays would quit heating my cheek. There were two empty pitchers in our bladders and grease in our bellies. We had the time and place to be here or there. Usually if I'm happy I stay where I am, but the chattering street and glowing sun was distracting my fuzzy buzz. Sean decided to go home but Jocelyn was more enthused, and so we began the expedition.

We came to the grand parade square where the potheads gathered in twos and threes. The park was below us, saddled by a little valley of green wrapped by thick trees. A war memorial statue was stone in the centre of it all, and a modest little podium and van made noise in the distance. There were only a few officers standing along the ridge of trees, fenced off from our little gathering. Speaker after speaker. Marijuana use does not pose a threat to society. Marijuana use is good for some of the sick, and bad for some of the healthy. Our government should enforce marijuana laws rather than be coerced into action by the US. There were no more than 100 people there. No one (on the stage) was toking, but the words evaporated into harmless puffs of smoke. I looked down at the orange leaves sprinkled beside me. I ran my hands through the leaves and rolled my body over them, crunching and crackling. Spent some time laughing in my head about younger days, memories of falling backwards into a huge pile of autumn. Before you can say Jerry Garcia, it's 4:20. There was a raffle to win a handsome bong, but we lost. I saw the energy of bodies glowing and the sweet pungent smell of summer wafting from the statue steps. Jolly good music came from the speakers, and we ventured down onto the statue to fetch that special leaf.

Walls were nowhere I could see. Everything was happening in synch. The young bongo drummers drove the tempo hard and slow, then faster, and faster still! I stared at the one who looked like Anton Newcombe's little brother, pulsing and vibrating the air with primal noises from the skin of the drum. The ones who fed us, they were just children.
Free Mark Emery!
Under some swinging trees, autumn was splashing the ground with brown leaves. Funny. It is supposed to be a gradual process, but one day, you open your eyes and find yourself in another season. On all sides we were surrounded by buildings and streets, but it was the orange trees that fenced us in.
Enter our friend the rastaman, Cumin. He spun some wonderful stories, dramatised but believable little movies from the everyday. A natural-storyteller he was, with light brown smooth skin. A happy face, a strange smiling accent.
Suddenly, skateboarders invaded the land, rushing past like jet engine turbines taking off. They whirled past us and around us, grinding on the statue like sharks circling the living dead.

I sensed the stream of effortless thinking. I sensed a breeze that cuts you and reminds you what it's like to be cold, cold with the blood circulating through the circuits of your flesh. On the walk home, the world turned all the sun rain wind and warmth into one moment. There was a moment where everything came together. The yellow sun setting on our faces and the wind ripping sky tears through our hair. The dark smoky cloud hovered over us sending misty drips. What a cruel cloud, that bubble of grey trapped in the wide blue sky. Everything was still sharp and clear and my feet stumbled ahead. I caught the world in a sweet embrace.