a wedding along the st. lawrence river

Here the present took place in the past. And the past is in every blade of grass, in branches that tickle the sky, in the silver dressed current that twirls for the sun. In the land of the Iroquois, time rocks back and forward, and stands just long enough for you to kiss.

A race car driver I sat beside in the plane had never heard of this place 150 km from his coppered roof city. He said it three times. Each time the word peeled off his tongue slower. Iro –kwoi. ir-rro-kwaaa. eee-rrro-kwwaaaa.