If you twist it just right, depending on the weather, it can be heard between the hiss and jumbled words. It sounds like it came across an ocean, through a city of dark buildings, each with a hobo cooking beans in a can over a fire in a 45 gallon drum, and maybe that sounds romantic in this day and age of suffering and chemical drugs that change people into something unrecognizable, but it isn’t. That station is still up there going around and around, most of the time it is undetectable. But every once and awhile it gets pulled in. It chirps between songs, fades out, comes back loud. Bridges, muddy creeks, train track and the smell of poplar come to mind. When everything was still young. When we climbed over everything that was old, never once considering that it would be us one day. Being climbed over. It still plays static. The times between songs are getting further apart. The truth is it works as good as it ever did. It is coming over Nelson. It is getting louder. If it was good enough then, through turning tamarack and snow topped mountains, then it is good enough now.