I have this feeling that some of the moments most worth writing about were never meant to be kept. That the hot iron breath of horses in the blackberry hedgerow is meant to only come back to life when the smell of autumn over-ripe blackberries along the Sables punches me right in the hippocampus, not to be confined word for word on a page. do you have to let it linger. Or the secret to successfully writing about the diffuse moments that elude capture is to let them percolate away into the tangibility.
It’s not the way it really was, but it’s the essence of the thing. The exact where, when and who aren’t the point, dear diary. I remember with every passing train at night one very early morning or very late night outside of Medicine Hat in a red van named Wanda, running alongside a freight train miles long and the bend and sway of the prairie grasses in the wind of its passage.