After seven days, a thousand highway miles and fourteen readings in northern schools, libraries, book stores and museums, I am home, having caught the Sunday 8 a.m. plane out of Terrace and, three hours later, finding myself in the backyard pulling weeds. Amazing what a week’s absence brings -- the rock daphne, which you can smell at the end of the block, glowing like a piece of coral.

I imagine I will be reflecting on this tour for some time, not only the places we visited, but the people too. Nice to have such fine writers at our Prince George stop, poets like Barry McKinnon, who wrote one of my favorite books, ever, in Pulp Log; Ken Belford, who gave me a hot-off-the-press copy of his new book, Decompositions; and Gillian Wigmore, whose 2008 book, Soft Geography, I will purchase soon. Thanks to Books & Co. for hosting the event. A beautifully curated bookstore.

But now I must rest, contemplate the cancellation of this week’s volcano-interrupted flight to Brussels, where I was to present at the Comite Van Roosendaal’s Institutional Attitudes conference. Not sure how much use I’d be after this recent trip, but I’m sure I'd find a way.