The Bergdorf Hills rise unobtrusively in south-central North Dakota east of the badlands and were not fully described until 1923, in a book by the youngest son of a prominent New York family, Meyer Bergdorf

This morning the snow is falling again. It has already filled in the ruts in the drive. The snow makes me happy. Under it tired landscapes concede, errors disappear, and sin is bone under, the whiteness an absolute of infinite possible beginnings.

A man leaves a dockside tavern in the early morning, the smell of the sea in his nostrils, and a whiskey bottle in his pocket, gliding over the cobbles lightly as a ship leaving harbour.

We arrive at dusk, in a drizzle. Everything wet, dark, slippery. Dock building huge, dimly ht by tiny yellow bulbs at far intervals. Black geometry angled against dark sky. Cluster lamps glowing—they are loading cardboard cartons labelled Product of Canada.