...home, that is.
Home, where the thermometer lurks below OF (-18C). Home, where the stacks of papers promise future work and play. Home, where the sun rises earlier in the mornings and lingers later in the afternoon.
And yes, where the deer (no antelope) play.
Dorothy was right. There really is no place like this.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
A U.S. writer living in Canada examines borders, boundaries, and other invisible (though not imaginary) lines.
