It’s that time of year again,
the time when, amidst the celebrations of birthing a nation,
the Montreal streets break open to mark both old and new,
transformed by our other national holiday:
It is the one day when
the streets come alive
with the parts of discarded lives.
Some are refuse, long forgotten, brought forth again by the purging instinct.
Some are too much: too much furniture, too much teddy bear, too much of everything
to find a place in a new life.
Some are too painful, or too bold, or too difficult, to bring along for the ride.
So they find their way to the curb, to the street, to be left for good
–their owners moving on from them to the promises of a new life, new neighbors,
or possibly new everything.
There is something beautiful about the remains and the refuse, the moving on and leaving
Yet all the more beautiful is the resounding exchange therein.
When that new tenant, unknown neighbor, or old friend
finds new life in what you have cast aside.
Cuts to the curb, inspects what has been left, and
moves in what has been moved on from,
thus finding the treasure in the things we cast asunder, often so carelessly,
and finding beauty in the things we choose to forget.
Moving Day, when the whole world is rent asunder, with old and new,
reborn each year to remind us of what we leave behind
and what we look forward to.