Of porches and poems

Do poems grow on trees? They did at the Grand Porch Party, thanks to an anonymous someone.

I'm not one of those guys who has trouble explaining why he loves his wife.
If you were lucky enough to take in the Grand Porch Party in our Waterloo neighbourhood on Sunday afternoon, you'll know why. It was bloody fantastic and entirely her creation, helped along by some great musicians, volunteers, sponsors, porch hosts and the aforementioned lucky attendees.
For a solid three hours under a cloudless pre-summer sky, we strolled, stopped, listened, applauded, chatted and repeated, over and over again, as wonderfully documented by my friend Darin.
And then, just like that, the neighbourhood was back to the way it had been, and almost always is: quiet, except for the occasional hint of breeze in the trees.
The breeze, while scarce on Sunday, found something extra to play with in those trees, thanks to the lovely someone of still-unknown identity who managed to pull a Porch Party prank of particularly high quality. Whoever it was hand-transcribed several poems and strung them from random trees with twine.
It was just another brush-stroke on a picture-perfect afternoon, but not an entirely unexpected one, given what I've come to know about people in this part of town.
They love their community, and I'm guessing by now they love my wife, too.
I can't say I blame them.

My much-better half...okay, two-thirds (shot on Canon T2i)