>Come hurtling out from WawaOn the endless boreal corridor of the Trans Canada you will begin to go too fast, seeing nothing but the narrow band of highway between the green pine flanks of infinite forest, below a flat grey overcast sky, having many hours ago accelerated the box truck beyond one-hundred, one-ten, one-twenty, one-thirty kilometres per hour, making no discernible difference as you follow the blurred white and yellow lines keeping you tethered in, no birds, no deer, no cars, just hours of sky and trees and highway alone in the truck lugging yourself and all your possessions ever eastward across the continent, thinking "..." speaking "..." thumbs drumming ". . ." at 10-and-2 on the steering wheel, for how long just . . . and . . . and . . . on and on, the same thing, until a corner comes and then---breeching the view like some titanic whale come cresting out of the woods---you see the lake again, and the cliffs which drop down the hundreds of feet into it in long rocky walls obliterated below and suddenly revealing your own height way up there above Lake Superior and its oceanic vastness on your tiny sliver of highway where only three feet of guardrails pen you in as the second corner comes and your one-thirty plus the speed gained hurtling down the hill is suddenly palpable in the way the truck resists and tells you with its weight heaving to one side as if being sucked towards the now visibly endless and shining lake restlessly beating way below you, slight lift of the tires, slight lift of your stomach, eyelids peeled back, white-knuckled grip trying to tend gently to the wheel not wanting to go those hundreds of feet down where the marks of your crash would be only a fresh set of petroglyphs for that lake to wash away in the endless time it has, the highway pulling one way, that lake pulling another---which you do resist---and it vanishes now behind you again, as the highway straightens, the forest yet again closes in, the lake once humongous then a sliver then gone, the top-heavy truck now steady and flat though your heart beats in your ears and somewhere below it the lake whispering---always---"shhhhhh."
>>24511310 (OP)>Judging criteria and prizes to be announced at a later date.Why the wait?
