I forgot what it was like to be on a Greyhound, and the drab feeling of isolation that usually settles on the entire bus. The helpless feeling of boredom and alienation is only made human by the extreme contrast provided by lucky flashes of scenic beauty outside. This time the difference between these two environments was particularly stunning; I had forgotten the prairies' greatest offering, in the form of spectacular marathon sunsets that stretch out for miles across the landscape in the richest colours imagineable. I felt hypnotized as I stared with bewildered, unblinking eyes that kept waiting for a finale that only insisted on being drawn out and admired for as long as possible. And while the sun was at the forefront, scenes of never-ending white fields adorned with barns (including a hippy one that displayed a gigantic 'PEACE' sign near the side of the highway), old homes and horses gnawing away at the ground. There is a strange force on a Greyhound bus that will undoubtedly always drag me away and swallow me up as soon as I step foot inside, while never sharing a meaningful glance with another passenger to let me know that I'm not the only person who's in the void. In other words, I'm in the middle of nowhere and I've never felt more like it.

But not without technology, another stark contrast. Manon's text message was short: How r u?

To which I replied: I'm on a dark quiet bus rolling through the white prairies roads...

And finally, I felt peaceful.

xo