Well surely this is as good as it gets, cruising down Waxatike on a water run with your friends. Four people to do a one person chore, three more to swim in the beaver creek, cold and reedy and clean. The gold truck, hardhats and shovels rattling around your feet, windows down, music loud, the endless barren expanse of Boreal forest around us. The clay logging road, rutted and washed out by some enterprising beaver.
Or is it Johnson Lake, lying naked in a row in the damp sand. Northern Ontario May; it snowed two days ago but today is 17 degree beach weather. Lets stay here forever, life doesn’t get better. Moments that flash before your eyes as you die: nine people in a hotel room at dawn, Baby Duck. Naked on the beach before the people and the blackflies. Pure quiet. Spring peepers and vast skies and coarsely populated landscapes of spruce and jackpine, bear, wolf, moose, bugs, spiders, beaver, hare and muskeg, the intrepid seasonal workers and our nomadic cities in miniature that spring up in the melt.
Oh I am a child of the sun, sleeping and sun tanning on top of my bus, sunburned and deep in. Shirt left at The Companion, topless dance party, a tepid bag of corn on a swollen knee.
Words don’t do justice to the 4 am wake up calls and lake swimming and mess tent parties.
I have shoes to buy and letters to mail and poutine to eat.
Till next time.