Tuesday, 23 May 2017

It Will Stop

Slocan Valley. Slight breeze coming off the lake at the base of the Vallhalla Range. Melt waters draining the high-country snow fields. River swelling over its banks. All around the white noise of rushing creeks mixing with blackbird song–a multi-layered ambience which loops under a sky streaked by chemicals.

Highway rumble not too far away–the sound of trucks loaded with sections of once living forests on their way to be processed into new suburbs, toilet paper, and box stores. All the necessities.

There are days when all I want is to shut off the the valve to the modern world–a modernity which beams right into my psyche; one which I am no doubt a part of with my factory made pen moving across recycled paper bleached clean, or the daily practice of tapping my fingers on plastic keys.

I am most aware of all that I give up in order to receive the machine's convenience, yet still I know that one day it will stop.

It has to.