November 06, 2005

When I went to get naked at Laurier on Thursday, I rented a tiny, red car and sped down country roads. The day felt like the end of summer and I rolled down my windows to blast prog rock through the radio (there’s nothing like the sound of tortured violins to make you thankful for the morning). Because everything felt like an adventure and my tank was nearly empty, I steered off the King’s Highway and aimed the car at a dusty stretch of gravel that connects nothing with nothing.

Once you head off the highways, everything is more rugged and more beautiful. The fields are unplowed and acres of forgotten forests just stand there, doing whatever it is forests do when nobody is watching. I got out of the car to snap a picture. The thing is you only come across places like this by mistake, when you’re in a hurry to be elsewhere.

I suddenly wish it was March and I was on the road going somewhere where the trees live.