Simple
On Sunday I drove to Kanaskis.
I took a road I'd never been down. Turning off onto another road based on the name alone.
Sitting, silently, on the edge of a glacial pond in the late afternoon sun. Realizing that even now, I cannot skip rocks across even the most tranquil body of water. My brother learned, my father knew but whatever inherent flick of the wrist needed to complete the motion never made it's way to me.
On the drive up, on the side of the road are monuments. Not as impressive as the pyramids or a crumbling castle, they are none the less symbols of human imagination and passion.
People stop, at least I imagine they do as I've never seen them, and get out of their cars, wander onto the forty-five degree slopes and create messages in the stones scattered there.
Some people spray paint them so they're more noticeable. Most leave them as they are. Over the years the plants grow over them, the snow moves them about in a jigsaw fashion or people, the same ones who make a message , pillage the rocks for their own words.
As I drove up on Sunday I saw this question, in the blink of an eye at 120km/h.
"Will You Marry Me?"
Today, I cleaned my car from top to bottom. Trunk to glovebox. I found receipts, band buttons, insurance, registration, pieces of cloth and other miscellany strewn about my secondary, and highly mobile, home.
I collected many things I can put into a box, to not look at, feel, touch until they cease to be meaningful and simply become another piece for the recycle bin or garbage can.
In the passenger side door storage I found a fortune cookie fortune.
"Take a vacation. You could use the inspiration".
Indeed.
I took a road I'd never been down. Turning off onto another road based on the name alone.
Sitting, silently, on the edge of a glacial pond in the late afternoon sun. Realizing that even now, I cannot skip rocks across even the most tranquil body of water. My brother learned, my father knew but whatever inherent flick of the wrist needed to complete the motion never made it's way to me.
On the drive up, on the side of the road are monuments. Not as impressive as the pyramids or a crumbling castle, they are none the less symbols of human imagination and passion.
People stop, at least I imagine they do as I've never seen them, and get out of their cars, wander onto the forty-five degree slopes and create messages in the stones scattered there.
Some people spray paint them so they're more noticeable. Most leave them as they are. Over the years the plants grow over them, the snow moves them about in a jigsaw fashion or people, the same ones who make a message , pillage the rocks for their own words.
As I drove up on Sunday I saw this question, in the blink of an eye at 120km/h.
"Will You Marry Me?"
Today, I cleaned my car from top to bottom. Trunk to glovebox. I found receipts, band buttons, insurance, registration, pieces of cloth and other miscellany strewn about my secondary, and highly mobile, home.
I collected many things I can put into a box, to not look at, feel, touch until they cease to be meaningful and simply become another piece for the recycle bin or garbage can.
In the passenger side door storage I found a fortune cookie fortune.
"Take a vacation. You could use the inspiration".
Indeed.