the day I lost Milton Acorn

the day I lost Milton Acorn

… continuation of “Milt as Elder and Shaman …” memoir

Chris Faiers

We sat on the small ridge at Ashbridges Bay listening to the birds until Milt got thirsty, likely caused by his diabetic condition. I directed Milt to one of the nearby water

fountains, and remained contentedly listening to the cawing while people-watching the throngs strolling the Beaches boardwalk below our perch.

After ten minutes I began to wonder where Milt was. It should have taken him just a few minutes to get his drink. Eventually I began to worry,  remembering other adventures of Milt’s when he had been unaccompanied. My God, I had lost Canada’s foremost poet – drowned, perhaps, in the inviting blue waters filled with pretty women in bikinis. Or kidnapped! – by whom I couldn’t imagine – Yankee imperialist agents? CSIS?  The dreaded Trots?

Aimlessly I searched through the sunburned crowd, kicking sand in frustration. No sign of Milt anywhere – finally I wandered back to our tiny house on

Rhodes Avenue

. I began making dinner, but still no sign of Milt.

Hours after he had wandered off came a loud knock at the front door, and a cabby’s friendly face asking if this was where “DOCTOR ACORN” resided. National treasure be damned – Milt had found his way home just in time for supper.