The Blood of The Plant

My Grandfather, my Pepere in French Canadian, was a kind, educated man. One beautiful Spring day, I was out in the backyard on Close Avenue. We lived st 23 Close Avenue at Close and Springhurst, right next to the CN railway tracks. There were dozens of train tracks at the foot of Close Avenue, right beside the Gardiner Expressway at Sunnyside,near Old Fort York. We were some of the last houses on Close Avenue, right next to Lake Ontario. Anyways, Pepere and I were outside in our large backyard, and everything was a lush green. I must have been roughly 18 months old. I had my little cap with my little jacket and pants on. I looked cute in that outfit. I was wandering around the backyard, exploring everything. Pepere said, "C'mere Mitch" in his deep toned voice. He never called me Michele, only Mitch. I went over to him and gaved in wonder. He took his weathered hands and pulled a bush in front of me, with a leaf sll on the vine. Pepere split the leaf in two, right down the centre and said, "This is the blood of the plant." I smiled and nodded and gasped in wonder. I looked at his face with it's ruddy complexion and murmured, "Oh Pepere!" We stod there together not speaking, just drinking in the moment. I was mesmerized. 

I have tried many times to replicate that moment, and I never have been able to. When I think back to that Spring day and my Pepere, I'm always taken back to the day I saw the sap drip out of that leaf. I love you my Pepere

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