Toast and tears around the woodstove—another overnight ceiling of stardust and spirits. Two years together, struggling to our seventh funeral as green teachers on the land’s northern reaches.
Dressed in layers, she sits silently. Sorrow and hangovers rinsed down with foggy tea. Me, I read the misery of Bukowski.
“You look pretty.”
“I’m tired of this,” she says, through pursed lips and thin sharp eyes. “My heart aches for the kids.”
We could leave, betray the north… Or skip the service from now on.
But not today.
Cold crack of the last can, we share sips on the skidoo ride.
Wonderful words! Emotion oozes out.
Thank you, Connie. That’s great to hear.
Complex. Emotional. Well done.
Thank you very much, Heather. This format was challenging and rewarding.