The fog lays over our little island like a child tucked in the bed for night. It’s as if we are all being called to say our prayers and retire the day’s events. There is nothing surrounding us… there are no little rock islands to which to paddle, neighbours to greet, or mountains to reach….
One of my earliest memories—I must have been about nine—was of riding on the gondola at the state fair with my little brother. We had been allowed, after much begging, to leave our mother and baby sister and ride across the fairgrounds by ourselves. We held hands and swung our legs and thrilled at the…
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