Down to the River

Those feelings of mutability while sitting on the river bank, they are my present, they are me and as I get older the repetition, the continuity, become ever more dominant. I become my own relationship to the past. This moving present becomes less and less of an unknown.

Little here seems new to me, except the buildings: in collapse or on display,
and the curiosities: Goat Coat, Sour Toe shooters, Hobo Hotel and ample supplies of stable milk.

Everything else is a welcome echo, especially the smells. Pine and scrub grass, smoke in the air, rain on the oil soaked dirt roads; Cornwallis, the Okanagan, the West Kootenays and Wainwright, all are present here. The land echoes the past and all those other rural, removed places.