Canadian Spirit

Languished and famished at summer’s end.  The cool night air wafts through the Venetian blinds, warning of winter, warning of void and loneliness, of dark nights, and dark mornings, of somnambulist states, somnambulist spirit, stirs prayers for strength and reasons to awake.

          September sniveling.  It is the same every year.  Somehow, we muddle through, with hockey and rye whiskey and hopes of spring, because we are Canadian and that’s what we do and we’re proud of it.