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FIORITO: THE ROOFTOP OF THE WORLD
Toronto Star
http://www.thestar.com/news/gta/article/842867--fiorito-the-rooftop-of-the-world
Aug 2 2010
Ontario
I overlook a flat roof.
In the morning I can see sparrows hopping. They remind me of those
cheap tin, key-wound toys you used to get at Christmas. Of course I
know it is the other way around; those key-wound toys of Christmas
reminded me of hopping birds.
There is a source of bread in the neighbourhood. Any time I want,
I can see the sparrows pecking at crusts. Any morning, when there is
enough to eat, is Christmas for a bird.
I overlook a flat roof.
There was a robin during the heat wave. Oh, I can tell you that on
the third floor where I work, it is all heat wave, all the time.
The robin sat, beak open, puffy of chest, with its wings tucked in
and its tail splayed, short of breath, bedraggled. It looked the way
I felt. I thought for a moment it might fall over.
Until it flew away.
I overlook a flat roof.
Grackles patrol the roof like proctors, ensuring order among the
other birds; they disapprove of everything.
I overlook a flat roof.
In the distance is a horse chestnut tree. This year's crop of chestnuts
seems average. But I have not lived here long enough to tell what the
average is; ask me in 10 years about average production, and whether
we achieved our quota the year we first moved in.
I overlook a flat roof.
Now and then a squirrel leaps from the roof into the branches of
the chestnut tree. The leap is routine and instinctive, which is why
there is no need for a squirrel Cirque du Soleil.
The squirrels and sparrows tolerate each other in the same way that we
tolerate each other on the city sidewalks; you go your way, I go mine.
I overlook a flat roof.
The destination of the chestnuts, in the fall, is a fall that will
split their shells. The squirrels will bury as many of them as they
think they need.
As many as they think they need: a lesson in there somewhere.
If I crane my neck I can see, out the other window, a mulberry tree.
The mulberry produces red fruit. There are mulberry trees in Armenia
that produce white fruit, which the Armenians use to make a hot white
liquor. I was told they call it tuut.
"Tuut" is a suffix in the Far North, meaning "in the manner of":
Inuktituut, for example, means "in the manner of an Inuk."
Tuut, tuut, Tootsie.
I overlook a flat roof.
The thing about the mulberry, and the horse chestnut, and all the
other trees, is that they are profligate. They produce more than
enough fruit and nuts to feed the birds and the squirrels, and more
than enough for the trees to reproduce.
Nature is not grateful. Nature is not good. Nature merely is. A lesson
in there, too, somewhere, if we would only learn it.
I overlook a flat roof.
My neighbours pass by below. The difference between my old
neighbourhood and my new one - even though they are more or less the
same neighbourhood - is that in the old one, I rarely recognized the
people passing by, and no one said hello, and I lived on that block
for a dozen years, and I am not averse to striking up a conversation,
personally or professionally, at the drop of a hat.
Whereas, in the new neighbourhood, everyone stops to say hello. I
have no idea what explains the difference, unless it has something
to do with the dropping of hats.
I overlook a flat roof.
It is my horizon, and the ground in front of me.
Joe Fiorito appears Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
From: A. Papazian
Toronto Star
http://www.thestar.com/news/gta/article/842867--fiorito-the-rooftop-of-the-world
Aug 2 2010
Ontario
I overlook a flat roof.
In the morning I can see sparrows hopping. They remind me of those
cheap tin, key-wound toys you used to get at Christmas. Of course I
know it is the other way around; those key-wound toys of Christmas
reminded me of hopping birds.
There is a source of bread in the neighbourhood. Any time I want,
I can see the sparrows pecking at crusts. Any morning, when there is
enough to eat, is Christmas for a bird.
I overlook a flat roof.
There was a robin during the heat wave. Oh, I can tell you that on
the third floor where I work, it is all heat wave, all the time.
The robin sat, beak open, puffy of chest, with its wings tucked in
and its tail splayed, short of breath, bedraggled. It looked the way
I felt. I thought for a moment it might fall over.
Until it flew away.
I overlook a flat roof.
Grackles patrol the roof like proctors, ensuring order among the
other birds; they disapprove of everything.
I overlook a flat roof.
In the distance is a horse chestnut tree. This year's crop of chestnuts
seems average. But I have not lived here long enough to tell what the
average is; ask me in 10 years about average production, and whether
we achieved our quota the year we first moved in.
I overlook a flat roof.
Now and then a squirrel leaps from the roof into the branches of
the chestnut tree. The leap is routine and instinctive, which is why
there is no need for a squirrel Cirque du Soleil.
The squirrels and sparrows tolerate each other in the same way that we
tolerate each other on the city sidewalks; you go your way, I go mine.
I overlook a flat roof.
The destination of the chestnuts, in the fall, is a fall that will
split their shells. The squirrels will bury as many of them as they
think they need.
As many as they think they need: a lesson in there somewhere.
If I crane my neck I can see, out the other window, a mulberry tree.
The mulberry produces red fruit. There are mulberry trees in Armenia
that produce white fruit, which the Armenians use to make a hot white
liquor. I was told they call it tuut.
"Tuut" is a suffix in the Far North, meaning "in the manner of":
Inuktituut, for example, means "in the manner of an Inuk."
Tuut, tuut, Tootsie.
I overlook a flat roof.
The thing about the mulberry, and the horse chestnut, and all the
other trees, is that they are profligate. They produce more than
enough fruit and nuts to feed the birds and the squirrels, and more
than enough for the trees to reproduce.
Nature is not grateful. Nature is not good. Nature merely is. A lesson
in there, too, somewhere, if we would only learn it.
I overlook a flat roof.
My neighbours pass by below. The difference between my old
neighbourhood and my new one - even though they are more or less the
same neighbourhood - is that in the old one, I rarely recognized the
people passing by, and no one said hello, and I lived on that block
for a dozen years, and I am not averse to striking up a conversation,
personally or professionally, at the drop of a hat.
Whereas, in the new neighbourhood, everyone stops to say hello. I
have no idea what explains the difference, unless it has something
to do with the dropping of hats.
I overlook a flat roof.
It is my horizon, and the ground in front of me.
Joe Fiorito appears Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
From: A. Papazian