Still, a long way to go.
I’m driving. It’s late. Nope, strike that. It’s early.
I left my house at 3 am and have a long way to go.
The drive is fourteen hours, the beginning, middle and end of a day.
I’ll stop in Chetwynd for coffee, PG for breaky, Williams Lake for a sammy and see you by supper.
The box of my truck is weighted down with your Christmas gifts and three feet of snow.
This may be only the once of the twice this year that I see you, but it’s still worth it.
The crystals forming on my windshield are like diamonds but not meant for comfort.
To make sure I stay between the lines, all windows open. Cold breeze, cheek smacking.
This jerky I’m chewing on has lost my attention. Maybe I’ll feed it to a fox at Windy Point.
The mountains are stunning, have I told you that?
White snow-capped and blue sky framed, cut by a ferocious river, they look like pads of paper.
Stacked and crushed into layers, they are truly the stories of our lives.
The trees kissed by hoar frost are angelic in so many ways
Every branch, stick and twig; encased in its own frozen tomb
Picturesque and pure heaven, they sparkle in the warming sun
At the opening of the canyon, I see the same train every drive.
On the opposite side of that river and as colourful as your toys once were
The contrast amongst the white of the mountains is like that of you growing.
But the contrast of our countryside holds nothing on my love for you.
It persists no matter the graffiti, holds or delays.
It persists no matter the avalanches, rock slides or derailments.
It holds so many treasures hidden inside train cars.
It travels endlessly, from the base of mountains to the beginning of the skies.
It travels without question, hesitation or regret.
It functions no matter the distance from here to there.
I still have a long way to go, but I’m on my way, my son.
Norma Rrae
