The moon is so bright, the trees cast sharp shadows on the snow. We’re on the midnight bus to Dawson Creek, and then on to Fort Nelson after a bit of breakfast. I had intended to sleep most of this ride, but it’s bright enough to see the landscape, and the shadows and snow are making faces in the trees, and I can’t tear myself away.
Most of the people on the bus are sleeping. It’s not too busy; anyone who wants two seats to themselves can have them. There are a couple of guys talking a few seats back. They started with a discussion about the differences between Halifax and Calgary and Kelowna, and where they’ve come from and where they’re going. They then moved on to talking about pot, and have since moved on to hockey. It’s all very familiar and very Canadian.
It makes me think that if our neighbors are to the south, then our family is to the north. I think we spend too much time worrying about what our neighbors are doing or thinking, and not enough time worrying about how the family is doing, how they’re getting on, if they need anything.
The two guys in back have now moved on to talk of over-fishing in Prince Rupert. Too bad it’s too late and too dark to film. This is exactly what the country should be hearing. Ah, the shot that got away . . .
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