Late last week, a grade twelve student wandered into my room. He was smiling. He had his term one report card. Graduation looked promising. “Miss Saas. I want you to … Continue reading Love Loud
Here. I took a step over the property line and stood on the driveway a while. I heard the radio tuned to CBC, the static from the old machine offering … Continue reading Home Stories
The students I live alongside set a challenge, to write about the past/future. They set the challenge so I would finish a piece, put pen to paper, stop sitting in conversation so long with each of them, and step up to the mic. After all, we headline in a month.
The future. The past. The future. Tricky business these places.
(Red Shoes Series)
Saturday Afternoon at the Cabin
From the far room, Dad’s snore’s whistle. When I was young Dad’s snores rolled in swells through the house. Once, while camping with my cousins, Dad’s snores woke campers two sites over.
Dad’s snores are the sounds of home, the home of the youth where I turned over at night and snuggled deeper into the covers when there was an unknown thump on the back deck or the coyote howls were nearby; I am safe, Dad is downstairs.
His snores are different since the stroke, high pitched, and far away.