Meaford Motel & Restaurant
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- Pets allowed
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- Pets allowed
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Travel Blogs from Meaford
... about- sort of in the way that a mortally-wounded beast can still deliver a retaliatory deathblow to its hunter. The victory of spring is thus ambiguous. A spiteful blizzard brewed in Collingwood yesterday afternoon. I was in town collecting provisions for my onward travel and so there I was yet again chattering of tooth and aching of hand in the bus shelter waiting for the last transit home. Town was deserted as it was Sunday and miserable and ...
... marker, signing people's keepsake flags. It was immensely fun, but also tiring in the end. A great big explosion of energy that insisted on resolving itself in the most painful way possible (I was covered in inexplicable bruises when I woke up). Finally at some point between 2 and 3 am, I went to bed by necessity as I was due back on the desk by 6:45 am. I woke up once more at 4:45 am to people yelling outside my door and, going to investigate, ...
... for good this time. In response, my supervisor said a rather cryptic, lovely thing that I didn't really understand the meaning of. She smiled and tilted her head and said, See you at the next location. I may not have entirely understood, but I liked the sound of that. It made it seem somehow as though endings were not really endings at all, or rather that the true ending would be a grand reconciliation, one day, in this world or one of the others. Perhaps ...
... next. Death, I expect, must often feel like that; when the end of life finally nears, one must wonder how it happened in such a rush, how did life go by so fast, even though the majority of days were no doubt ruled by a lethal boredom. The last moments on earth are perhaps the fiercest and angriest and greediest of them all, as we are inevitably betrayed by time in the end, a fact which should rightly provoke a final passion. Our lives are all ...
... has ever awoken me at an ungodly hour to depart timely life advice, and so until such a moment occurs, I fear I will remain sceptical. Rather I refer to the ghosts that occasionally crop up in one's travels. This can happen in several ways. Perhaps the most straightforward form of ghostliness is being mistaken for someone else when abroad. There you are, a blatant tourist gawping at churches, when someone approaches you from a wide beam of light, clutching at your hands, calling ...