Love along the Rideau
I’m sitting on the banks of the Rideau canal—at the place it locks itself to the Ottawa river. The grass is groomed but not to the point discomfort—the ev...
I’m sitting on the banks of the Rideau canal—at the place it locks itself to the Ottawa river. The grass is groomed but not to the point discomfort—the ev...
A morning Psalm: Thy people shall be willing in the day of thy power, in the beauties of holiness from the womb of the morning: thou hast the dew of thy youth. ...
When Wendy Morton escaped a speeding ticket by reading a poem to a police officer, her intuition of poetry’s power was confirmed. Wendy’s poems connect hearts; ...
At the height of our two-day gale, from the shelter of my third-story condo, I saw a man on a bicycle inching his way to the dumpster. His bike was buried under...