Kerouac Kamping

Just got back from a 5-day Algonquin canoe trip. Fantastic thing, this "vacation" thing. I'll have to remember to do it more often. Got a chance to canoe up Lake Opeongo, and ended up camping on my own little island. Actually, it was big enough to have its own name. Fish Island, certainly covered with various birds, but not too many fish. I decided to rename it the Isle of Zuckervati. Thought that might be more appropriate. So everyone, make that little change to your maps.

Mighty nice trip though. All physical exertion aside, the canoeing was very fun, and it was *amazing* to listen to the wind as it whipped through the trees.

The last night there, I get up and I'm stunned by the silence, because the nights before it had been extremely windy at the campsite. Now it's all silent. Not even the sound of water, and I'm right by the shoreline. And, oh, how it's very bright! The moon is high in the sky and so bright that it's casting long shadows. I wander around the campsite and the water on the lake is like glass, pristine, smooth and above all, quiet. Even the birds are quiet, and no insects move or buzz around me. Whereas before, the world seemed so alive and full of a primordial ferocity with the wind, and the animals, now it seems like everything's dead. Like I'm dead. As if I'm walking around Purgatory. I expect my footsteps to echo as if on hard tile, instead of the hollow, loamy ground. I stand there for an eternity staring up at the sky, and at the lake. I feel alone, unchained from this world, and living in the desolation of the world beyond. I have reached a new level of Zen.

OK, I was reading a lot of Kerouac this week. The man has a magical way of describing even the contents of his pantry. Every single tin of beef has long memories with him.

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