Last night, driving through southern Québec: empty two-lanes stretching off between corn fields; dark, quiet towns, all businesses closed. Now and then the glow from lights off in the distance spread illumination upward, reflecting off low cloud cover.
Mile after mile of narrow roads, mostly free of other vehicles, my car moving in and out of rain, the last of the hurricane's remnants. The air damp, mild. Now and then the intense odor of skunk, suddenly pungent and strong, then quickly fading.
Montreal radio stations playing hip-hop tunes in French. Other stations taking phone calls, the voices musical, soothing, easy on the ears.
The first time I've done distance driving at night in over a year. The first time I've crossed the border at night, only one other car around -- ahead of me, containing two 20-somethings, instructed to pull over in the spaces by the customs building (looking wary as they stepped out of the car). The customs agent fired questions at me, waved me on through.
Back in Vermont, adjusting to the country after a fast two days in the Hull/Gatineau/Ottawa area. It was good to be there, it's good to be home.
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Ottawa, Wednesday evening -- twilight fireworks, a few hours in advance of Hurricane Francis:
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 7:44 PM [+]
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