Day two in Nova Scotia, with already blistered feet,
a car stops ahead, two young people emerge,
ask me what I’m up to, provide me encouragement,
the things already in their vehicle – bottled water, some apples,
though by their car and clothing,
I realize it was a financial burden to do so.
A wonderful couple in Moncton, Nicole and Troy, invite me into their home,
feed me, give me a bed for the night, leave me with food for the trail.
At the highway, Nicole says: “I’m going to make you a Greek Salad
and a Mushroom Pesto Penne with parm. And if you have a sweet tooth
[which I do], I make the best peanut butter pie!”
Two women from my distant past stop ahead of me on the highway,
produce a picnic of veggie wraps and, yes, beer,
leave me with cupcakes, candy, chocolate, peanuts,
home-made breakfast bars, and toilet paper.
A man I never meet, who uses his points to get me a room
and breakfast in a Grand Falls, New Brunswick, hotel.
In Edmunston, a family spend an evening with me, feed me, bed me,
prepare the best cup of coffee I have ever tasted,
share stories and dreams and the joys of their lives.
In Montebello, Quebec, a registered massage therapist
gives my legs a painful, but much-needed massage,
this service organized by a friend, and the therapist
refusing any payment, only wanting to know about
my journey, to encourage me.
North of Ottawa, a couple on a tryst
(please, no pictures or posts about us)
chase me down on the highway to give me
freshly baked bread and pastries.
Thunder Bay, the Elliotts host me,
people I have never met before,
take me to their home in the wilderness,
where I see blue jays, a hairy woodpecker feeding her young,
a raccoon (aka Rocky), hummingbirds, and various other birds
I have never heard of and whose names I immediately forget
once I’m told their names. There are squirrels everywhere
and skunks living under the shed. It’s a very busy backyard,
often visited by deer, moose, and bears.
And for drama, one can watch the house cat
chasing down various animals, which, when he captures them,
he brings into the house to the dining room to eat.
He’s quite the hunter, I’m told.
On the outskirts of Wabigoon, a First Nations woman
stops her car on the shoulder of the highway in front of me.
She produces a bag of food, hot food, she has just cooked,
plus cheesecake, bread, water, and coffee.
She has seen me a few times on the highway,
as far back as Thunder Bay, and decides that she wants
to help me on my journey, with food and reassurance.
She breathes love of humanity.
The woman at a gas station in Saskatchewan,
approaches me with a bag of cherries,
wishes me well and a safe journey.
And so it continues, all across Canada, trail angels,
wanting nothing more than to help a strange man
succeed in a strange quest.
Trail angels are the beauty and mystery
of walking adventures world-wide,
and forever in my life will I thank them,
honour them, cherish them.
