Didn’t Reckon

It’s a good time to spot civilization in the wild, before limbs fill with leaves and hide a secret sight. We’re just feet from Highway 8 down here, but you’d never know in passing. Unless you date from the days when a home still stood here, it’s a mystery unrevealed. I feel the urge to return and clear away what’s fallen. I surely will eventually. There’s no practical reason why, only the compulsion that comes with treating such places as graves of memories. Near as I can tell, this land belonged to William Bertaux, a plot he cleared enough to squeeze some settlement on the edge of wilderness. Or maybe it was someone else before him. Either way, those were the days of logging at its peak — so you didn’t reckon on a future so sparse and sleepy. Not it gets so quiet that I can hear a car coming from miles away.

April 27, 2026
Milford, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6742 of my daily journal.