3 Jun 2012

31. hometown (1)

i drive the highway west from Calgary to the town of Cochrane, down the big hill and around slow, lazy curves that hug edges of the long, gentle descent. foothills fold into the distance and distend into the rocky mountains. the late day sun tired, rests on the jagged edges of the horizon

a ten thousand foot ceiling above, a vast expanse, an emptiness that extends from the foothills as they disappear away from the edge of the road below into what feels like an unbounded and infinite sky overhead, as if in the absence of gravity one could float limitless. 

as i descend to the now small city, the nostalgia burns, mostly everything has evolved so as to not even resemble the traces of my childhood memory in the way i remember, however, a flood of memories inspired by the remnants of those occasional traces of context that haven't changed with the passing years overwhelms me while they flash by at the speed of the vehicle. 

the town evolves and changes but the ghosts of days passed linger with me. the present exists for those who live here as a now, as a time and place, where this time and place will become their future nostalgia. but for now, it exists in a present that only has significance because of my connection to its past. 

this nostalgia, my memory of my experiences, becomes the story of my hometown.

No comments:

Post a Comment