4 January 2017 – We’re in public, contemplating art (both intended & by-accident), and definitely also in the rain. But it’s Tuesday, isn’t it? So on with the waterproof gear, and out & about for the Tuesday Walking Society.

Rain, we find, enhances art. It makes cheerful pieces even jauntier, and reflective ones all the more poignant. It adds dimension.

Not A Forest is a good example. Just another commissioned visual on a condo hoarding, Phyllis & I think at first as we squish our way along Wellesley Street East … but yes, the mist gives it depth. It does extend Paul Kane Parkette past its own small square of grass to an imagined forest, albeit one where cranes & towers jostle the trees.

And it pays tribute to artist Paul Kane himself (1810-1871), who once lived at this address though he is known for his wilderness scenes. Plus, photographer/artist Darren Rigo is also local. So it is all nicely site-specific.

Only steps farther along, and more art. Modest, functional, underfoot, and perfectly suited to the drizzle.

Thank you Toronto sewer system!

The next sewer lid is also a fish. The one after is plain old cross-hatch. So enjoy ’em when you can.

Corner of Wellesley & Queen’s Park, Phyllis does a double-take, freezes, then relaxes.

“Ohhhh,” she breathes, in relief. “It’s a sculpture. I thought it was a person.”

Sculptor Timothy Schmaltz would be pleased; so would Regis College. The work is called Jesus the Homeless, and it is meant to further the educational mission of this Roman Catholic college of University of Toronto: it invites us “to reflect on our relationship with the homeless poor, the most vulnerable of the marginalized people living in our midst.”

We cut through Queen’s Park itself — and almost immediately see plastic sheeting strung among some fir trees, making a shelter for someone with no other home. I reach for my camera, put it back into my pocket. No-one is there, yet it seems unacceptable to me, to intrude.

Across Hoskin Avenue, into Philosopher’s Walk, we follow long-buried Taddle Creek north toward Bloor Street.

And stop at the grove of trees, the boulder, the sodden roses.

The plaque catches our hearts. It notes the 14 trees,

with sorrow planted in memory and in honour of fourteen sisters slain because of their gender in Montreal on December 6, 1989. … It is not enough to look back in pain, we must create a new future.

Of course: the École Polytechnique Massacre. These roses must mark a commemoration held this past December 6. I do not count, but assume they number fourteen.

A happier moment later on, while doubling back south on Spadina from Dupont. Think for a moment: what might we expect to see? (Oh go on, give it a try.)

No matter what you imagined — performing seals? 312 circus clowns spilling out of a tiny car? a pit bull tenderly guiding a baby kitten across the road? — I guarantee you did not imagine the Bayeux Tapestry.

Oh all right, fair enough, we did not in fact see the real thing. No 70 m. by 50 cm. stretch of embroidered cloth, dating from the 1070s, hung from a hydro pole.

But we did see this.

I don’t know what possessed this home-owner to hang a replica of one panel on his front porch, but aren’t you glad he did? (Or she…)

And then we stopped to admire some raindrop-spangled fir cones …

and then we contemplated how very raindrop-splangled we were ourselves, by now …

and then we retired to a Bloor West café for our customary latte/Americano warm-ups.

Bliss.