I just spent the last four days up in the Canadian wilds, and was sorely disappointed.
Sure, the scenery was gorgeous- low mountains bespotted with charming white homes, fluffy clouds framing the sunset as it fell through the color wheel in flares of marmalade orange, lemon yellow and even imperial purples.
The lake reflected it all, a tain of sparkling clarity marred only by the occasional Rockwellesque rowboat avec father and curious son.
The weather collaborated, an even 80 degrees tempered by raygun bursts of sunshine, cool caress breezes and a graceful descent into balmy nighttime.
There were bruise red cherries, sacrificing themselves so that their perfect flesh could feed the mouths of boisterous children; so that their sweet dark juice could slide down parched throats and soothe.
All the while I took photos for the smitten couple who had chosen this day to be immortalized. Bridesmaids bustled about, arranging, and rearranging and re-re-arranging what the other bridesmaids had moments ago rearranged. Tiny flower girls threw handfuls of rose petals into the air, squealing with delight as they showered themselves and those around them in nature's crimson, pink and white velvet.
There where vows exchanged, kisses aplenty, tears shed, disasters averted. There was sunshine, applause, love and peaches.
But damnit, I didn't see a single Mountie then entire time I was up there. Not a one. And no grizzly bears, neither!
Canada: full of lies.
Sure, the scenery was gorgeous- low mountains bespotted with charming white homes, fluffy clouds framing the sunset as it fell through the color wheel in flares of marmalade orange, lemon yellow and even imperial purples.
The lake reflected it all, a tain of sparkling clarity marred only by the occasional Rockwellesque rowboat avec father and curious son.
The weather collaborated, an even 80 degrees tempered by raygun bursts of sunshine, cool caress breezes and a graceful descent into balmy nighttime.
There were bruise red cherries, sacrificing themselves so that their perfect flesh could feed the mouths of boisterous children; so that their sweet dark juice could slide down parched throats and soothe.
All the while I took photos for the smitten couple who had chosen this day to be immortalized. Bridesmaids bustled about, arranging, and rearranging and re-re-arranging what the other bridesmaids had moments ago rearranged. Tiny flower girls threw handfuls of rose petals into the air, squealing with delight as they showered themselves and those around them in nature's crimson, pink and white velvet.
There where vows exchanged, kisses aplenty, tears shed, disasters averted. There was sunshine, applause, love and peaches.
But damnit, I didn't see a single Mountie then entire time I was up there. Not a one. And no grizzly bears, neither!
Canada: full of lies.