The Intersection

The intersection of Prince Arthur and Clarke exists in relation to St-Laurent. It acts as gateway to St-Laurent, whose bright lights and excitement you envy from the distance.

The intersection sees a migration of students, westbound in the morning, eastbound in the late afternoon. In the evening, traffic turning onto St-Laurent backs up to this intersection.

All of this activity is monitored by the pigeons who fly in a circular pattern above the intersection. The pigeons stir the winds that pass through the intersection, sending them off in different directions, altered. They keep a sample of each wind as an offering to those who slow down to inhale the intersection.

On Sunday afternoons, winds from the northwest carry the real or imagined sounds of the tam-tams.  The pigeons stir the winds, which carry roller-bladers and joggers, bicycles and baby carriages. They are grateful for this time when lives are played out on the streets.

As the summer draws to a close, you begin to fear that you did not soak up enough vitality to strengthen you for the dreary days of winter you know are ahead. The birds pick up on this, and promise to remind you of it next summer, when laziness or deadlines keep you indoors.

In the fall, the wind is charged with excitement, from the university freshmen who explore the area which will be the diving board to their future lives. The birds dutifully stir the wind, knowing it will be their responsibility to administer a dose of it when the students’ foundations inevitably crumble with the freezing of the earth.

At the first snowfall, excited skiers carry their waxed skis over their shoulders, claiming their season by triumphantly marching through the dust-like snow. The smell of wax is carried in the cooling wind, and the birds make the most of this transient time.

The winter winds come from all directions. The pigeons struggle against these winds, united in their unique duty to stir the winds that have been abandoned by other, weaker birds.

In the park, where the benches have been submerged into an ocean of snow, the pigeons know they will be undisturbed for months to come. Soon, a perfect circle of flattened snow can be seen in the park, made by the accumulated footsteps of the birds who gratefully feast on the breadcrumbs that an old lady has carefully withheld from the garbage.

Mingling among the winter winds is the occasional breeze of a student, running to the grocery store, trying to circumvent the cold.

Every once in a while, the students launch an attack on the cold. They head towards St-Laurent in large groups, beer bottles in hand. The wounded wind retreats. The pigeons recognize the small victory of the students, as they stir in the wind that is marked with the smell of alcohol.

Most of the time however, the pigeons must stir the winds of desertion.

There are times when the birds aren’t there, but their presence cannot be forgotten. Their footsteps on the still discernable circle form a tightly woven web, which has caught in its trap the paw-prints of a dog. This capture is the birds’ revenge on the dog who likely chased them away.

When it seems as though the winter has gone on forever, the pigeons release an almost imperceptible footprint of the aroma of summer, which re-energizes you and inspires you to continue living until spring.

Finally, the last of the muddy snow melts away, and you feel a tinge of remorse that you were not loyal to the winter, which only behaved as it had promised to. But the birds are already busy stirring in the winds that gently soak the blossoming trees.

Things happen on St-Laurent, not on the corner of Clarke and PrinceArthur. And yet, it is on the way to and from St-Laurent that relationships form and are broken. The intersection is always there, a reliable friend ready to offer a moment of reflection.