Fries, Crows, and the In-Between

There’s something about the Fulford ferry terminal that makes time feel optional. Not really any slower exactly but just softer.

Luna and I biked down to the Harbour with her all tucked in, the kind of ride where the air feels like it’s doing half the work for you. It was after all, going the same way we were. Sun sitting just right. No rush to be anywhere else.

With french fries in hand, too many as always. A few for us and a few for the crows, who are never shy about showing up right on cue.

Luna watches them like it’s the best show in town. No tickets, no rules. Just a shared understanding that if you wait long enough, something will land nearby.

Inside, a donation bin, half library, half mystery box. Books on tasteful nudes and How To Be A Good Neighbour - whatever that means.

She finds a book on some interesting architecture. I flip through a few pages. She flips through the idea of flipping through pages.

Nothing we really need and yet it's still hard to leave empty-handed.

It’s not really about the fries, or the books, or even the ride.

It’s that quiet in-between.

Where nothing important is happening, and somehow, that’s exactly what makes it feel like it is.