When I looked out the window, I saw two skiers gliding down the middle of Burma Road toward the homes in Parkland Terrace. The road is separated from the kitchen by a thin row of trees and the skiers appeared and disappeared as they kicked and glided down the road.
After I went home, I thought about the two skiers, their tracks in the middle of the road as I drove out and what it meant?
What does it mean when you can ski down the middle of the road in the middle of the afternoon without worrying about traffic. Simply ski, kicking and gliding, on and on.
The phrase that came to mind was peace.
At Burma Road there is a peace of place.
A peace of belonging.