Six-bullet ballad in the badlands
Winding and climbing, the road left the fleshy-toned valley of this dear Red Deer River to dash straight through the infinite of the flat canola fields. Under a great sun bathed in blue, the little Cube dashed a little more eastward, lulled in the languishing rhythms of spaghetti westerns arias, Texas Swing moods and French-language cowboy songs.
Cuddles for cowpoke
A steel-slide over his laps
Poutine western flick
Four days in the distance already, the shadows of the Coast Mountains were but a heavily rained-out memory. From this distant call to try my hands at dinosaurs in the Gobi desert's sand dunes, of this desire to strum my uke in a kitschy tiki archipelago, only remained conversations with a few Ravens from those seven years spent gold panning. For all the gold in the creeks, I had left my fair amount of feathers to the pacific shore.
Ring in the White Pass
Singing dunes of Mongolia
Lœss blown to the east
From a Cube thrown to the rising sun, the setting got quite a dash more to a Redding sun. Before leaving Drumheller, a local oracle by the shadows of a titanesque tyrranosaurus rex pointed with much enigma my lust for dust to the Dinosaur Provincial Park, where I could meet a few in dreams and in dust. At a darkening horizon, at the soft dawn's fire splashed on my neck, I had to face the fact: pointed to a road by enigma is an act most pointless. I had the air of an ass lost in a sea of hair grass, on the look-out for a place to sleep.
Blown through the valley
Turkey Vulture opera
T. rex's dry eye
Stomach growls and bouncy eyelids, low were my expectations. A roach-infested motel for unspecified couples ready to bounce on the pounce at each other's bulge would probably be my port of call for the night, even if it meant hearing the humping of bodies in attack under cover of stained sheets. In these environs, betwixt soils and skies, here where the g string sings so flat in a brisk slide, to my eyes no sign of redemption.
Bourbon bottle blast
Blistering blue barnacle
A barbecued brain
Suddenly, through the flow of wind-beaten ears of wheat in this plain empty of all topography, my salvation salutes me as a blooming sign! Eagle Valley -since it flatly goes by this name- invites me to its campground. Weary by an afternoon so late, weary of being road-weary, weary and hungry, this is where I will plant my tent. A longer drive, I will not attempt...
Pool table travel
Empty horizon hunger
Lead under the eyes
Once at the gate, two quiet stone guardians greeted me. Odd impression, right in southwest Saskatchewan, two Easter Island heads... The rest of the campground was watered by a similar tropical flow: office set in a thatched-hut decor, alleys named after South Pacific isles, pseudo-exotic jumble with no sense of unity. Even the tourist info stand caught my roaming cowpoke eye: nearby sand dunes desert, cowboy poetry gathering, up to a village with a devoted T. rex-king cult...
Three fingers in clay
kitschy cowboy's dusty trail
Sipping an explosive tequila and tonic cocktail (yes, a tnt.rex), I knew that comes sunrise, I'd have to leave this improbable paradise before taking a plunge in its treasures. My fate was otherwise, pushed by an eastward odyssey, to my pelenopian Hélène . But if you think that I'm not getting back here ever again, fugget about it!
#travel #haibun #haiku #dinosaurs #prairies #badlands #alberta #saskatchewan