The light, glinting off the corrugated stainless steel exterior of the cars, signal lights streaking through the night sky, the ever present never coming closer circle of light from the distant locomotive, illuminating the trees as we pass them by, the light spilling from the cars, gently lighting the ground, the terrain so lit looking all the world as an ever present cloud of steam emanating from the train, the Fraser river to our left, gleaming from cloud glow above, emptying into the water left behind us, the gentle rolling to and fro, the curving one way and the other, like a giant metallic snake, letting me see the whole of the train peeling away only to catch back up to it, the low constant rumble, the train, moving onward, onward, onward.
Shining gaily in the dawn the river sits to the left, smells of breakfast filling the car along with the sounds of conversation and new friendships, vegetation streaking by the window again, again, again, the train car dancing with the cliff faces along the right, edging by, engaging in a game of closeness, high spirits for all, underpinned with a steady beat of rails, thadump, thadump, thadump.
People speaking in hushed tones, the valley through which we pass is our cathedral, muted tones of fading red and yellow dot the evergreen hillsides, rail sounds continuing to dominate, swaying back and forth, eyes transfixed on the landscape unfolding, the river Thompson glistening as it flows back the way we came, we weave gently between peaks, a summit suddenly beckoning all capped in white, shining tall amongst the other peaks, mottled colours climbing its distant face with the tree line sharp nearing its white crown, soon joined by companions, ringing the train, all around, from water to sky, nothing lies that does not please the eye, rolling on, one beautiful tableau after another.
Crisp air nips the face, delightful, the lowering sun revealing new colours on the hills, new shadows highlighting ancient topography, a pale half moon hanging silently over the lake, sharp reflection, the sky opening up, uninhibited, cold stars gleaming down, scents hanging in the air: pine, birch and the moist earth and leaves upon which we travel, mountains tantalizing, wildlife strutting their stuff, living their lives, we as intruders, they as nature powerful, wild, alive.
Fading back into the ground the hills recede, fading, the evening light matching the hills, fading, rail cars shining with reflected twilight, prairies beckoning, awaking, the horizon as flat a line as can be, the land stretches, stretches, stretches, dull gold the colour all around, clusters of trees breaking the endless plain, all has been cut, the fields low, the season ended, the winter coming, clouds grey, a plane matching the one below, freight rumbles past, colour of colour of cars, all different purposes, all rumbling on, as we do, forward.
Snow is here, streaking by the window, grain elevators standing watch, watching the rolling trains going by, splashes of red, green, white, alighting from hoppers, support piping, towers of holding, sleepy is the world, harvest past, fields dormant, few moving in the world outside the windows of the train, only the towers bearing witness, glassy still ponds reflecting all in perfect artistic beauty, the air hushed, flakes, flakes, flakes.
A new day equals a new postcard, strong conifers lining the path, conically pointing towards the sky, birches standing interspersed, white trunks assertive, subdued fall colours not yet fully receded still shining through, lakes, lakes, lakes glide past, mottled dark and blue the sky blares overhead, matched with rocks of deep grey, red, orange, holding the ground heavy, ancient, thick, wilderness untouched, standing ever present, trees, lakes, bare lakes, most fowl now flown south for the oncoming winter, patches of white giving evidence of the advancing season, the air is still, the train noise continues, continues, continues, snow growing, ground adorned with white, more, more, more, marshes, rivers, ponds, lying all still, dark hued, ice clinging, gripping, to the shore.
Bursting through, the colours of fall strut their style, past their prime yet still proud, the warmer clime keeping their fall attire longer, vibrancy, vibrancy, exploding in our vision, ponds, clearings, landscape giving way suddenly to urbanscape, roads, houses, bridges, parks, uptowns, downtowns, approaching the city, urbanity, graffiti, industrial, residential, big station looming, inside.
Into infinity, water hems the train on one side, yet not the ocean, traveling onward into the most populous region, through city, town, villages, lake calm, reflecting the sky, zooming by at high speeds, rocking steadily, fields, trees, clearings, crossings, all becoming vibrant streaks of colour, the distinct ring of the horn blares, blares, blares, level crossings coming, coming, coming fast and furiously, fields standing ready, ready for the spring, for planting, and old city looms, envelops, Paris in North America, thick walls of mortar and history, colourful shops, people bustling, longstanding vitality, thriving, thriving, thriving.
More east than east, further than the continent has gone before, a jutt of land across the bay, birch and poplars standing guard over flamboyant red groundcover, bursting from a clearing, undulating land rolling towards the horizon, rivers, rivers, rivers, churches sitting nestled in the landscape, white amongst the colourful backdrop, two provinces blending into one, horses, farms, the water coming, we move, east, east, est.
Red soil lies beneath, turned up here and there, potatoes gone but the fields remaining, unusual to our eyes, unique and vivid, clouds lazily overhead, farms, fields, fields, fields, houses dotting, rural, laid back, surrounded by ocean, water, coast, coast, travel, coast, windmills turning overhead.
Nine of Ten, Ocean to Ocean though not to Ocean, lands into lands into lands, landscapes into landscapes into landscapes, socials into socials into socials, the days and nights of exploring, adventure, of witness, now done, the journey ended, the memories never done.
(the title for this post came from a book I loved to get from the library)
