Glass Bottom

Evg watched the midsummer sun through a bank of yellow-green fog that hovered over the ice, about a nautical mile out he guessed. It was almost midnight. It was warm. The onshore breeze picked up waves from the shimmering edge of the ice pack and splashed them onto the scaly gravel at his feet. Leathery leaves on a lone stick of willow trembled. Should he be naked? He decided not. Too film-school, too sixties. He still feels the tug of an art house audience hungry for abstraction and skin. It’s old skin now, he thinks, his mind rising to the surface it sees in mirrors. No no. Faded Levi’s, a white T and Converse, red ones, still a classic look.

Rowan and the gravel faeries

When the prize-winning text was posted on the fence, it was intended for road-weary travellers to read as they motored east on highway five. Sentences, if there were more than one, ran the entire length of the upper meadow: ten-inch laser-printed helvetica in black, switching to orange near the end. The letters were meticulously cut […]

24 Juin

Bonne fête à tous mes voisins québécois et québécoise. On this, our national holiday, emotions cascade like the rivers flowing over, around and under. In our canoe, paddles flashing in our hands, a beer balanced on a rib between our knees through the white water, it is easy to produce this one québécois man gushing, […]

seventeen juncos

Seventeen juncos hop around on gravel in front of the house, scratching and pecking at meltwater and debris. They have arrived on the warm tail of an April blizzard and waited politely for ground to appear. From the porch I watch their tiny pink-yellow beaks stab the stones, imagine what the needle-sharp claws on their […]