(no subject)
Repeatedly the image I collected, looking out the Greyhound bus window at the way the snow sprawled along the infinite needles of pines and spruces high up on mountain passes on my way from Vancouver to Nelson, is drifting in my mind. Along with it comes a deeply felt sensation; I can only describe it as knowing that where you are is congruent with where you're supposed to be, combined with a desperation that arises from not knowing how to return, if ever. And how do I get more of that sensation? It happens on the city bus sometimes on the way home from either job when I see my ghostly transparent reflection in the dark window, or from class when I look at the branches on the trees and their edges seem precise and intentional.