Category Archives: Moon

Rolling Into the Night

Train Trip (65 of 404)

The orange half-moon winks at us as it drops to the ground. The Canadian continues its journey westward, unaffected by the darkness that envelops everything around it. In the dark coach car, only a few reading lights point their narrow pencil beams to the seats below, lighting the worn pages of books in the hands of passengers awaiting the sandman.

Train Trip (68 of 404)

I lean my head on the cold window and close my eyes, hoping sleep will come soon. I can hear the young couple chatting and laughing, loudly, a few rows behind. They’ve never heard the saying “use your spa voice,” obviously. The lady across the row, the one with the sleep mask, the fluffy pillows, and the thick comforter, talks to the characters in her dream. I hope she doesn’t sleepwalk. A green light flies by; I see its glow through my closed eyelids.

Train Trip (71 of 404)

Then two red lights. Don’t two red lights mean stop? For a brief second, I wonder if the engineer could have missed the signal, barreling down the track toward the next freighter heading in the opposite direction. I shift in my seat and look around. Seems I’m the only person who has noticed. The train’s whistle blares, its sound sliding by me toward the back of the train. The collision I imagined never comes. The night steals Saskatchewan… The sun will rise in Alberta.

Train Trip (69 of 404)

Night time on the rails
Signal lights break the darkness
Lonely and cold out

Où vas-tu ?


Where you went?

Feet sinking in snow
I turn around, double back
Tell me! Where you went?

I know what you’re thinking: “This is poor grammar!” And you would be correct to think that, but for the fact that it is intended. There’s a story, of course.
Our family camped for the night many moons ago. I woke at first light, quietly exited the tent, and went for a walk. My four-year old daughter greeted me behind the screen door upon my return:
“Where you went, dad?” she asked, to which I replied, eager to correct her grammar, “Where did you go?” placing the emphasis on the word “go.”
“I didn’t go anywhere,” she answered with her hands on her hips, and a broad smile on her face. My wife, my seven-year old son, and I broke into laughter at once; my daughter grinned through the screen.
I should have known better… Since then, “Where you went?” means something quite special.