Canada

I’m in Canada, in the airport in Vancouver. I met a girl whose name was never given to me but which I overheard and then forgot. She’s dancing at the opening ceremony of this year’s Olympics. The plane that flew us to Vancouver was a propeller plane with 8 people in it, including the pilots and lady. All of us sat in the back of the plane for the benefit of weight in the back of the plane.
Now here in Canada, looking out through the terminal windows, square cells of glass rising to the ceiling, you can see a mountain range with snow on it. A single horizon like a jagged under bite, frozen. I wonder about Canada, thinking I should live here for the mountains and bears. I would go to the Olympics. I would live with people in a big house inside the lively city at the base of the mountains, looming in the distance, surveying the technology of the age, approving and disapproving. I want to climb it with my tongue wet in my mouth with my face wet in my scarf.
I have the feeling of walking on a moving belt again after walking on one again. It’s a nice feeling. It's been 15 years. I'm in Canada again.