I sit in a window seat, mug of half-decaf in hand, looking out on a shaded boulevard of trees, their leaves, now golden, seem suspended in air by the crispness of a late October morning.

A shiny red pickup pulls up to a free meter on this busy avenue, coins produced by driver sufficient to cover the seven minute visit to her favorite pick-me-up purveyor, Peets Coffee.

My distracted eye drifts across the cab of the ford to the window where the flag appears: "God Bless America". I quickly reflect on the events leading up to my sitting here, in this my favorite cafe, in the neighboring country to my south, America... the beautiful. My first flight since September 11, 2001.

Flash back 24 hours: The jet races for the end of the runway and gracefully lifts off. I look over my shoulder and the San Juan Islands come into view and what remains of Sidney Spit, Canada, drifts out of sight.

I feel anger, confusion, hurt, still looking for a answer I know may never come to explain the tragedy, the senseless loss of innocent lives, the end of innocence itself. I imagine a face, now lost, torn from friends and family in this sudden cataclysm. I say a quick prayer for them, as I, living on, must face the evils from day to day and one day, perhaps, help defeat them.

A sound brings me back into the cafe and my hot cup of coffee:

"May I sit here? Is this seat taken?"

It is funny about the obvious, how there is this great similarity between two courteous and peace loving nations. It is about how two nations, brought together by tragedy, chaos and loss, pull together in ways they have done silently for hundreds of years.

"Yes, by all means...pull up a chair", I offer, trying to be polite and Canadian and unobtrusive. I look out the window again into the mosaic of Fall when Fall thinks about turning to Winter, the air now containing a bite and a freshness not quite like earlier in the month.

"I love your town..", I offer cautiously, "my first time here in fact..coming 300 miles for a Peet's Coffee!"

I am talking too much, but she seems somehow relieved. The caffeine, even from my blend of low- caf is somehow working its way through my system, quietly but quickly perking me up. We talk about the geography and topography of Portland, how unique, how beautiful, low liberal, how progressive, how distant from unpleasantness, how, in fact, peaceful and idyllic and untouchable.

"I drop my 3 year old off at preschool a few blocks from here", she volunteered, "and Peets is.. Well I love it here," a look of solace and calm crossed her face for a moment as if the cafe held some magic power to protect from all evil. Another cold-baked leave drifted by the window, both sets of our eyes locked on to it, our will, it seems, easing it slowly and painlessly to the ground.

" My 3 year old niece.." I started tentatively, "caught a few minutes of CNN while her horrified parents looked on in disbelief before reality kicked in and they reached out to turn off the TV". It seems she had but two questions over the next few days: "Why did that big house collapse?" And, finally, "Were there any Mommies there?" They offered quickly:" Everyone got out okay.." Alas, a 3 year old's questions are simple and thankfully they do not analyze them to the depth of an adults true comprehension of horror.

My coffee companion had a similar story to tell of her child's first few days at preschool, two children, two countries bound by trust and love against one common evil.

As we finished our last mouthfuls of Peet's Coffee, I had this to offer: " We have a great border, in length and strength, and as Canadians, we are there for you, in your trials, triumphs and sorrow. We are very much alike, you know, and we are there for you when you need us."

As she shook my hand before leaving, I sensed the grace of the American people, the grief and the need to grieve, to share. " I am sorry," she said, "that you are sharing our sorrow..." "Look at our border and the nature of our relationship", I finished as we walked our separate ways. "It is what neighbors do..."

Colin Newell
www.coffeecrew.com