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Each of the homes we passed was a window. Behind each window was a soft explosion; a set of places and possibilities. Even at a distance it was like being stroked by thistles and weeds. Somebody reached up and held a child; growing up in those spaces. People simply working, playing, eating, smoking. Somebody was putting away laundry off a clothesline; I imagined the snick snick of pegs being pulled. There was this business of living, this thing that was long forgotten. The inescapable grasp of all things. Racing away from between clenched hands, speeding away ever faster. Lives not lived, loves not had, unborn families. I travelled more and more in those days; going faster and faster. Escaping the motion of the world.

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Peak Bagging

Tags:

lillooet , surreal , alpine , roadtrip