| This Edition's Poetry |
Daddy
Once, you took us to Skeekit,
the warm wind rising
from the Fraser Canyon to the mountain tops
where we spread our sleeping bags
under sequined Aspens.
Knowing comfort from the hands
that built the fire and promised peace
in the proximity of nature,
then lost us to cliff-hung roads
on the drive home
which made my mother furious
so she got out and walked
trusting to neither luck nor the wind
My father going his own way and knowing no other
while the river churned below.
by Lynn Atkinson
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