January 21, 2026

i cried on the beach today.

i go walking on my lunch breaks and let my worn brown blundstones lead me on a path through downtown. i say hello to the ladies at the thrift shop, i get a coffee at the christian coffee shop called “he brews”, i say hi to the native guys who hang around the park – i ask them if they’re keeping out of trouble and they always laugh and say never.

i walk the park and pickup feathers and take photos on my vintage camera. i listen to music. i walk for my health and to get away from my work and my mind for a while.

it’s cold out.

a man stops me to tell me, “hey look at the swans” and he points with a gloved hand and we stand at the edge of the beach as a group of swans cross the river to a woman feeding the ducks.

i love swans.

i was obsessed with swan lake and the story of the swan princess as a little girl. how delightful that this stranger stopped me as i stomped my way through the park while chatting to my long distance lover on the phone. he stopped me so we could look at the swans together and we do.

and before i know it im hurrying to the water’s edge to see them up close. and they’re just as huge as i remember them. they call to each other and dive for food and before i know it, im in tears, my face no longer chilly soaked with warmth.

it’s grief, again. of course.

when i was little, for no reason at all, my father took me to the local wildlife sanctuary park. just us. we spent the day looking at animals and learning about birds and feeding goats and chickens. we were having lunch when a large swan came over to us hoping for a bite of whatever we were eating.

for a swan obsessed little girl, this was like meeting a celebrity. i remember reaching out to touch the swan and he was so soft. he sat near my father and i in the park. i felt so lucky.

i have never forgotten that day.

and i cry on the beach thinking about the swans and death and my father.

there’s an ancient belief that swans sing a beautiful song right before they die, where they have been silent previously, save for some honking they like to do. i guess the honking doesn’t count.

we call a final performance or event a swansong which i find romantic. always good to go out on a high note. i have been thinking a lot lately about letting things go. last year i quit a position in the arts community where i had done events for years. my final event was memorializing one of my favourite actors by reading some of his poetry on stage and i have not returned to that stage since. i guess that was my swansong for that time in my life. it is painful to think and the bitterness of it burns inside my throat. that’s what being discarded feels like. it has felt the same through my life.

all things die.

all things end.

another of life’s profound lessons.

i saw a dead swan once.

it was after a rave and i was walking on a beach with someone i thought i was in love with. the lifeless body of the swan was greyish tear in the beige fabric of the beach sand. swans mate for life and this one wasn’t coming home.

i cried until i had snot running down from my face, completely inconsolable. i threw up vodka and press tabs and red bull in a 7/11 bathroom and felt empty inside.

i cried myself to sleep for days over the dead swan.

but today the swans are alive and im not intoxicated because i don’t drink anymore and ive grown up and im still on the beach with a lover except one who is far away, present with me only in voice.

i cry and laugh and take photos of the swans with their little bums in the air. i reach into my bag and put down some tobacco to thank creator and the grandfathers of the river for giving me the joy of seeing the swans.

i stop by the outdoor ice rink and watch people skating and eating pizza. i want so badly to put on some skates and listen to swan lake and pretend to be a ballerina. but, it’s almost the end of my lunch break.

it was still a really great day.

i hope the swans are there again tomorrow.