Holes hold a fascination for people. Coyotes understand this -- I like a nice snug one myself, smelling of dry earth, roots and many good books. Lately, though, my wanderings have taken me past this very large hole at Kent and Laurier Streets, where a noticeable crowd of men -- always men -- gathers to gape every week day at civil service quitting time. Which is anywhere between 1:30 and 5:00 on a given day... I digress.This hole is a former Canadian Tire, and was the only hardware store left in Centretown. I do not address that loss directly here -- the Independent Observer is passionate on this, and tells hilarious, twisted stories around a series of crotchety correspondences with blandly clueless corporate flacks. He may write 'em up sometime.
Let's just say that the store's demise, and that of an adjacent pocket park, have left holes in the Centretown community. Now there are holes in the ground, soon to be replaced by um, erections, that we coyotes would argue are actually holes in the sky. Ones that punch holes in the ambient sunlight reaching pedestrians way down at ground level. In summer, there is permanent semidarkness. In winter, add cold, bitter winds shrieking between the walls of artificial canyons created by this and all the other holes in the sky in that part of the city. No one knows precisely how all of this will interact with the remains of the local micro climate until it's a fait accompli...
Among the definitions for 'hole' extant in the Oxford English Big Word Thingy for Literate Dogs are: "an empty space in a solid body; an aperture in or through something; an awkward situation". Less polite, more scatological dictionaries have other definitions of interest also. To describe the many levels of politicians, bureaucrats, city planners, investors, developers anon anon, who have taken part in imposing this dense skyscraper farm, one might refer to the latter...
