Made Killarney by midday. Passing familiar signs and rivers. When does north become North? When you see the blue heron overhead, legs arrowed in flight? Or when you pass a scarred section of Canadian shield with its gravel eddys. Or when you count four beaver huts villaging the roadside marsh.
It takes a long time to leave the house and then the city stretches and stretches to hold you in situ even father every time you venture out. Such a long untethering. Will we fray or bind together?
Posting in Blind River. Aiming for Lake Superior Provincial Park tonight. Thinking of Nigel. Just last night we were celebrating his 19th in the CN tower.