Volume 18, Number 106, December 2015/January 2016 November Musings by Eileen M. Harris
A grey November morning -
Rain streams down my window
Like a spate of tears,
Shed, perhaps, for the autumn glory
That is past. Read More
Volume 18, Number 106, December 2015/January 2016 Mountains by Harry Kuhn
Every muscle ached. Two nights of sleeping on the rough, rock outcrop on the mountainside added stiffness to my already tired and strained body. My plastic rain poncho had shielded me from the cold night breezes and gusts of wind but did not provide any warmth. The chill of the long night on the rock clung to me despite a bright warm sun in a cloudless blue sky.
I began my third day stranded on a bare, rocky ledge mid-way up a small mountain my co-workers had called Shewey. It felt inappropriate to call it a mountain when I gazed about me at the tops of a seemingly endless range of snow capped peaks just as ‘knife’ alone felt inadequate to describe both the pen and hunting varieties. Despite my quandary, the Rocky Mountains were a breathtaking sight.
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Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I never made mistakes. I’ve made some big ones in my time.
But this time - no way. We had a job to do and I did my part. Don’t blame me, I was only the radio operator! Read More
Volume 18, Number 105, October/November 2015 WINNER OF THE 2015 CANADIAN ESSAYS: THE JAMES FRANKLIN MCDONALD PRIZE Play by Peter A. Scotchmer
If all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, it makes Jill prettyboring, too. If truth be told, those workaholics Mr. and Mrs. Jack are tedious company, as well. So obsessed has our society become with work, usually paid work, that its antithesis, play, has become a word to relegate to the sub-culture of childhood, to be quickly and thoughtlessly discarded with the arrival of adult responsibility.
Yet a moment’s reflection should be sufficient to remind us that play is crucial to a balanced life at any age. Recreation, sport, and drama, all aspects of play involving the exercise of the imagination, are of paramount importance to our quality of life, which is itself of far greater importance than standard of living, with which it is sometimes, lamentably, confused. Read More
Since April my plans were to hike along the Bruce Peninsula’s cliffs with a Georgian Bay sunrise, run barefoot on Sauble’s sandy shore and feel Huron’s waves wash over me.
Work was finished on Friday and I was to leave for my summer holidays the following day immediately after my pal Peter and I had taken Nanook, my 90 pound Siberian Husky, for a walk, as we often do on a Saturday morning. It was my turn to choose where to walk, so I chose Waterloo Park.
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Since April my plans were to hike along the Bruce Peninsula’s cliffs with a Georgian Bay sunrise, run barefoot on Sauble’s sandy shore and feel Huron’s waves wash over me.
Work was finished on Friday and I was to leave for my summer holidays the following day immediately after my pal Peter and I had taken Nanook, my 90 pound Siberian Husky, for a walk, as we often do on a Saturday morning. It was my turn to choose where to walk, so I chose Waterloo Park.
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Volume 18, Number 103, June/July 2015 Summer Break by Jon Krafcher
Since April my plans were to hike along the Bruce Peninsula’s cliffs with a Georgian Bay sunrise, run barefoot on Sauble’s sandy shore and feel Huron’s waves wash over me.
Work was finished on Friday and I was to leave for my summer holidays the following day immediately after my pal Peter and I had taken Nanook, my 90 pound Siberian Husky, for a walk, as we often do on a Saturday morning. It was my turn to choose where to walk, so I chose Waterloo Park.
Read More
Volume 18, Number 103, June/July 2015 Truck Route by Carol Loewe
Trucks with everything inside
Are passing, passing by
Sugar beets, a worn canoe, closed and open bin
I wonder, wonder what it is that they have packed within
Gasoline and water trucks, Caterpillars plenty
Sugar beets, more sugar beets
Multi grains and heaps of wheat
Must be cookies, fruit and milk
Tempting, but they’re gone Read More
The summer I was seventeen, I had in my purse a signed contract to take charge of a oneroom school in Muskoka Falls in September. On the strength of this, I felt sufficiently mature to go with my husband-to-be along with my older sister and her boyfriend into the Albion Hotel in Gravenhurst, Ontario for a cold beer.
The waiter stared at me. “I’m a teacher,” I announced, waving my contract under his nose.
“You’re also under age. I know your family. Leave! Right now.”
Volume 18, Number 102, April/May 2015 Happy Day Ballad by Richard David Briggs
How sunny that ominous Saturday shone!
“Let’s go shopping Joe!” Wife sweetly said.
Off to Big City, excited we were soon gone,
Hmm just like romantic lovers without kids!
Our quiet harmony made for a happy ride;
On hot hurried highway, pick up the pace.
Oh I drove our car with such manly pride!
Hand outstretched, caress Darlene’s face. Read More
The first time I begged for a toasted marshmallow was in 1966. I was four. My family lived in a newly- built subdivision in Ottawa. The only trees in our neighbourhood were saplings that dotted the streets like sticks. It was a fairly idyllic upbringing.
There were lots of other kids in the neighbourhood to play with. In our backyard my father made a large sandbox. My brother Jake and I played in it with our toy trucks. My brother Jake was five so he bossed me around a bit. Our house was a split level, perfect for us to play hide and seek in. Jake and I ran around bumbling, tripping on stairs.
Our parents put up with a lot from us. We were rambunctious tikes, always running around. Kids being kids and all that. Read More
Volume 18, Number 101, February/March 2015 Nature by John F. Cameron
A splendid start to a day
Is to behold a sunrise
Slowly the bright orb appears
Radiant in golden colour. Read More
