Linda Marshall had a strong influence on me for a short time while I was at school. What a mind. I was directed to insure that I did coursework with her by a mentor. Of course my mentor was correct.

The light was exquisite and the air was still and cold when we began our short trek.

'The wintertime is coming, the windows are filled with frost.'       Bob Dylan

Gawd does not live here anymore.

There is a substantial Mennonite community near Elora.

We pondered on how the graffitti was applied.  The grade in front of the pillar is nearly a straight vertical. If the work was done in the dark it would become even more of a challenge.

We were out in Elora soon after sun rise. I understand why it is a favourite walkabout for my friend Alan. There is really no time of year when the familiar sights and sounds do not offer a great deal to the visitor.

Stopping at the Refuge for a coffee or cuppa midway through the walk is just about perfect. The comfort and laughter of the villagers in the background warms a body as much as any hot beverage.

So strange.
For 364 days out of the year the cenotaph is the cenotaph. 
The young pay it little heed. The remainder of us 
walk by occasionally raising our eyes.

On the 365th day, however, an extraordinary change takes place, 
an inexplicable energy rises and softly envelops the corner. 
If you stand still for several seconds in front of the wreaths, 
before the carved and cast figures gazing skyward, you feel it. 
You feel the energy drawing you up towards the heavens.

In some small way your head spins and you grow dizzy as you 
sense the pain, the loss, the fading memories in the shadows of the mind.

Finally, you move along self-consciously  when someone slips 
in behind you to  remember a fallen comrade.