Harbour Front Description

         I always liked the harbour front area. Especially in the spring.  Even here, in Toronto, the air smelled sweet and fresh particularly down along the boardwalk.  My feet prattled along the wooden boards that stretched out before me in a uniform line that stretched out as far as I could see.  Here the boardwalk followed the water’s edge and the gentle lapping was calming after a long day of classes.  Gulls hovered and dove.  They squawked out demands as they wrestled for some unseen morsel.  Standing there watching them, I felt the sun warm on my face and arms.  I could not help smiling at the ease of it.

         My eyes looked out across the harbour where the islands seemed to rise up, ripe with new growth, gloriously green and lush.  The lake sparkled.  A few boats moved across the rippling surface. Slow tour boats.  Nothing rushed. 

         A breeze flittered around me bringing with it the aroma of sausages from a nearby street vender.  I moved on, the smells drawing a rumble from my stomach that I could not ignore.  I had left campus and come straight here, not bothering to stop for anything to eat.  Now I quickened my pace and let my eyes scan for the vendor.  When I found him, a line seemed to curl around him bringing me to a stop.  Now I had to consider my options.  My stomach rumbled again and I placed my hand over it and pressed down hoping to ease the bite. 

         I walked a little further and was greeted by the sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon and heavenly pastry.  Following the smell I walked around the bend of the concrete glass structure that was part of the Queen’s Quay pavilions and found the food truck I was hoping for – sinful sweet decadence that would fill me until tomorrow, easily.  Giving in, I moved to join the line and smiled at the little girl that was carrying one to the rest of her family that sat waiting at a nearby picnic table.  A man, her father perhaps, guided her, making sure she took her time and didn’t drop it. 

         I waited my turn looking at the menu and watching what other people chose.  By the time I got to the serving window; I had made my decision - cinnamon sugar.  I made my purchase complete with a coffee and then wandered over to a lone bench where I lowered myself and settled in. 

         The taste of doughy bliss hit my tongue and I moaned before chewing.  I tried to eat slowly, savouring each bite, licking the cinnamon sugar off my fingers and lips before indulging in the coffee that swept through my system like a welcome friend.  Now this was a meal.