Saturday, March 8, 2008

the white wall

Went to visit my folks a few weekends ago and drove home after breaking of bread. In the city it was gorgeous (considering that it was still in the low minus’s and the snow was feet deep). In fact it was balmy enough that tights and sensible boots were not needed. Yup, again, the whole 3” heels thing. (When will I learn? When I have bunions that add an additional width or two to my shoe size.)

Headed out of the city and the real weather hit.

I spent 3 hours with both hands glued to the wheel, my right (bare) foot switching continuously from gas to break, my eyes on the 10 feet in front of my car that would sometimes clear off allowing me a seconds glance at ice, drifts and even bare pavement.

The sky was that pale, crisp blue. The sun a distant shimmer of things past. The horizon a white glittering line. The effect of the unseen wind was 2 feet of snow dancing and swirling about above the road I was traversing.

There were a couple places where I was alone on the prairie with only the above in view. It took my breath away. No matter where I end up in life this will always be home.

2 comments:

Mr T said...

'The sun a distant shimmer of things past. The horizon a white glittering line.' - those lines have got to be the start of your novel.

You did say 'bare' right foot? Are you aff yer heid wumman? How can you do an emergency brake with a bare foot?

Tomorrow I am going to CANADA!!!! But sadly, nowhere the white glittering line. I will wave to you as I pass over.

I still think if you set off in time, you could get there. Mr Darcy may well be waiting for you in Vancouver.

Gabrielle Touchette said...

angelina, you turn ordinary prairie life into poetry. You made my day.