From July 1, 2008

Today Canada turns 140- something. Or so it says. I'm pretty sure its been calling itself 139 for years...but anyway. A couple days ago, my Father turned 70. Tomorrow, my brother turns 35. We are all getting older, me, us, our young nation, this ancient land, this vast, silent land that took our ancestors and gave them its loneliness.

I drove, yesterday. Sometimes Porthos just needs to run, and his owner with him. Just picked a direction and went, drove until I found a road that looked interesting, and followed it until I found a good place to stop. As it happened, I wound up driving into a storm. It sat there for hours, perched on the horizon like a hunting beast, the rest of the cloudless blue sky drenched in light, while I hurtled towards it in my little car. Eventually we begin to catch up to it, and that dark patch slowly swallows the sky, and the blazing summer afternoon becomes an odd-coloured twilight. I find a lake and stand on it. The little beach is deserted, sandcastles left half-made, pock-marked from the passing rain. Thunder rumbles intermittently in the distance, flickering through patches of cloud. Nervous ducks float on the lake, a gently rippling image of the half-lit sky.

I did this, turned the phone off and ran, because I had a sudden compelling need to be away from people, as I frequently do. On this empty lake in a mostly empty land...it all feels strangely unnecessary.