The Gaps We Leave

Tom Davids

600-602 King St. An urban relic of sorts, at least in my mind.

Empty, but far from deserted. Many weeds and insects have surely found a home, albeit one where the roof may have succumbed to the elements, and whose paint-peeled walls now act as canvas for budding street artists.

The structures certainly lack any domestic charm they once had. Now, is the age of the undergrowth. Relentless and ever expanding. Ambitious to find the smallest nooks and crannies to populate. It climbs up the walls, and amongst the discarded rubbish in the front garden. The undergrowth leaves nothing out of reach.

I think of the endless troops of insects and arachnids that have taken advantage of the quiet inside, the stillness, to form a refuge from the ebb of street life, heaving just mere meters away.

The sun, air, and rain flood in through the windows, and holes in the roof, once the protectors of this space. They have now been left vulnerable and in disrepair.

This scene, for some, may provoke a feeling of unease.

Here, we will not find what is cherished in intimate human spaces. Homeliness, comfort, the warm sounds of chatter and laughter between close friends. It is the ghost of domesticity, but it is no less alive.

Because when we crumble, even in the heart of the urban, the wild may fill in the gaps.