That’s where I first met my bride. She
was standing under a chestnut tree during a
summer shower. I stopped my car and offered
to give her a lift. She didn’t seem to hear me.
I got out of the car and walked up to her.
Her skin looked and felt like porcelain. “Are
you okay?” I asked. She blinked her eyes as if
coming out of a trance. “I was looking for
the white horse,” she said. I drove her to
a hospital where the doctor diagnosed her as
being my bride. “There’s no doubt about it,
she is your bride.” We kissed, and thus the Trans-
Canadian Highway was born.
- James Tate