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There’s a place I go to in my mind, often. A northern lake, late summer. Water lilies in bloom, petals closing for the evening. Woodsmoke from a cooking fire drifting up into white pines as the night sky turns black. Loon-song, always loon-song.

In Anishinaabemowin, the place I’m in is…


It’s early fall, and you’re driving north on a two-lane country road. It’s warm outside, enough for the car window to remain open. Gothic red-brick farmhouses pass by in view, interspersed with fields of goldenrod. Tree farms and old clearcuts share the land with a few old-growth remnants. …


“If we will have the wisdom to survive,
to stand like slow-growing trees
on a ruined place, renewing, enriching it,
if we will make our seasons welcome here,
asking not too much of earth or heaven,
then a long time after we are dead
the lives our lives prepare will live
there, their houses strongly placed
upon the…

Mika C

I write about Toronto & Ontario, mostly :)

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