Expiring like a quivering, vulnerable bird in the dawn’s grey I have become obsessed with how Anne died, three months ago, quivering, vulnerable, like a stricken bird. This little poem is intended to honour her. It is presented on a Haiga background. https://www.graceguts.com/haiga I find it soothing and therapeutic to concoct these..
Escaping the rough by choosing the right club In 1964, when I was 12 years old, our family moved from Georgetown to London Ontario. This permanent change of scene came as a devastating blow, complete with the typical leaving behind of school and friends, entailing the requisite adjustment to a new, bigger city culture. In..
The Presence Of Absence In an interview, the great writer Christian Bobin said the following, which resonates during this time of coming to terms with absence, when love remains alive: “What remains of a loved one is a very subtle, immaterial substance that we used to call—for lack of a better term—their presence. A unique..