Island beckons bestreamed with umbrellaed bicycles, endless breezes,
city forgets itself, beside itself, admires itself, reflects upon what
it is and what it is to become; what is the price of healing in this
place of regeneration; what is the size of being, written in the
sound of the wind in the freshwater sea that laps at your door;
what is the name written in the sand by your toes as we while
away these summer hours; let it all go, let it all go. This is what
turns the wheels as surely as the chain, the spoke, the hub,
each in its place and this part is easy—look out across the water—
that’s the island, that is part of it, part of what makes the city,
separate and still part—just like you and me, beribboned and
streaming in the wind of the making of what is and what will be.

<Toronto is blessed with a natural harbour created by the island that forms  it. Our island is a source of beauty and respite for the city. The native tribes considered it neutral ground and brought their elderly and infirm to the island to rest and recuperate in its beautiful environment and waters. I can attest that the swimming at Hanlan’s Point is as good as it gets.>

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