The man remembers the boy
The boy is skinny, big-eyed, big-eared, likes being outside. He is attentive to little shifts of light, of colour, of wind, of harmonies in prairie grasses. He ...
Category: Contemplation
The pinks!
As long as my breath still catches in my throat at a tinge of pink on the western horizon at sunrise—I’m good. I’m really not sure I want to live wi...
A poem in praise of Mrs. Pinder
O how you rose in your chair, pinned me with an aggrieved glare, in front of our grade-two class. Your august flesh pendulous with seriousness, my inner-ducklin...
Hearts open like flowers at passing birds
I would like to be able to show you how a bird at dawn flew past my window and how by that simple act my heart opened like a flower. Was it the light perhaps? T...