Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Train Whistle Calling

I should have known better. My hosts in Vancouver are ex prairie people, one family of firm German stock moved north from Saskatchewan to Fort St. John, to farm. We talked growing up on a farm talk this evening. Day old chicks, making ends meet, trying pig farming, horses, bridles and bits. And the country. We looked at photographs; weddings and puffy hair, smiles and memories. It all made so much sense, she said, reading about a Mennonite boyhood in the Boreal forest of Saskatchewan. Great book by Rudy Wiebe, 'of this earth', published this year. Uh! I should have know better, but I knew what I was doing. Opened up the book and an hour latter it's nearly midnight.

Just writing that was refreshing.

But that wasn't what I'd intended. It was the sound of the train whistle calling up the valley this morning that's been with me most of the day. That haunting sound, the echoes bouncing and fading. Evocative.

All that arises, passes.