Today, July 1, is Canada Day. I am a Canadian, and this is what is means to me.
by M. Bijman
Where we come from there are raindrops that instantly evaporate on hot tar like a field of tiny smoking fires, low-running, brownish rivers filled with rusty sludge and simmering rocks, muddy dams with chalky banks and wormy, warmish, silty bottoms. heat that hits you in the chest and wipes its oven mitt paw over your face, white skies, or palest blue or yellow and boiling, like curry, from the dust. We were born creatures of arid habits: - the subconscious searching of the sky for rain clouds, the inborn waiting for the rain, the constant sniffing for the ozone after thunder, the habitual drawing towards water, always looking for some dampness in the cracked, jigsaw-puzzle earth. Where we live now there's Snow, that goes away but not far, and always comes back, Water, that burbles and rushes always somewhere close, glistening underneath jungly things, Green things, the tree-green, frog-green, grass-green, bird-green, moss-green of our replete dreams, the green, wet, snowy, tree-y place we call home.
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