Lucinda climbed the bumpy logging road like a champ. Out of bug shadows we ascended until we broke through the sun bejeweled crust, through an atmospheric ocean’s golden surface and could go higher no further. Atop our hill, I could see the surrounding Canadian countryside for miles. And how we were enveloped by the rich light, kissed and hugged and welcomed a thousand times.
I made camp here- pitched a tarp, built a fire pit and collected wood. Over the flame, on a tripod built of stone, I warmed a can of chili and water for coffee. I rolled a cigarette, threw some loose tobacco into the fire as tribute to Prometheus and the trees, and made some sketches, enamored. Under the stars and above the lights of a distant a town and around the rumble of trains, I fell asleep.
Ah, yes, happy belated Bloomsday!
[…] O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the
glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all
the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the
rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar
as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose
in my hair like the Andalusian girls […]
— Ulysses, Joyce