British Columbia. Tired and stiff-backed from the bus (dinner in Edson, stargazing in Jasper, morning coffee in Kamloops). Shaved head, and already the start of a sunburn from birdwatching all day. About to leave for the worksite - a six-hour drive – starting tomorrow I’ll have little or no access to e-mail, telephone, or running water for three weeks.
. . .
There is a singing in things. Or you can call it a sleep. Its beauty is a kind of loyalty, an upholding, a patriotism for something that does not seem to exist. Though immense, it is frail. This shining tone in things vanishes to be replaced by sentiment and ownership as soon as any sort of relationship with it is assumed. I want this thing and this wanting will make me poor (75).
Lilburn, Tim. Living in the World as if it Were Home: Essays. Dunvegan, Ontario: Cormorant Books, 1999.
