I find it difficult to work while traveling. Perhaps this is something that I should remedy. Or perhaps not. It is at these times that I let the images of new places and the experience of travel wash over me, the inspiration drilling deep into my consciousness to save for a later time. Carry a notebook, they say, to capture it before it is gone. But it is not gone. Later I write it down. Moments captured in my brain, stamped on my brain, until I write them all down.
Boyfriend and I scamper over the prairie, he taking photos of animals that dwell between partially submerged cottages and derelict scientific observation stations. Then we drive. It is so vast, so open. Kilometers stretch in every direction. Every though we can see so far, to the edge where the earth curves away, there is no one. The weather turns suddenly and there is not a single other human being, not even another vehicle. It is as though we've reached the end of time, and there is no one left but us.