February 13, 2013 § Leave a comment

After lunch today, with the five-hour stream of piano students and their parents starting up the stairs, i left to work elsewhere. Ended up six blocks west at the local branch of the public library, where i generally sit at the large table in front of the big windows. By the large-print books and the meagre CD stacks. Already distractable and halfway through editing an essay on autopilot, i started drifting. i fell asleep and for five seconds dreamt of Saskatchewan. And then i woke up and found myself staring at MS Word again.

But this Saskatchewan was not the prairie province we rode through on our continental train trek two months ago (the polar express bearing Christmas), the province that later swallowed my new gloves whole at the family gathering. Instead it offered a five-second vision of undulating pasture sharply cut by a coolie. And beyond its furthest reach against the clumps of grass and a rail fence the impassive prairie sky. It looked more like the hills you hit halfway back from Milk River than anywhere i remember in Saskatchewan. Yet dreams are a form of revelation, stretching between the prophetic and imaginative faculties.

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