Richard Wagamese

The moon on the water is a pale eye. Benign, it hangs suspended, unmoving like a dream upon awakening. The lake bears it effortlessly and the scrim of trees along the skyline thrust up like fingers to tickle at its belly.
You swear you can hear the chuckle of it against the morning adagio of shorebirds.
This early in the day there is nothing to distract you from this delicate and deliberate joining to what is. The mountain across the lake is magnified by the clarity of the air and you almost feel you could touch it with an outstretched hand.

There’s an old cast iron woodstove on the corner of the deck overlooking the lake. It used to heat this cabin. Now it’s been replaced by a newer, more efficient model. So it’s a become a fire pit we sit in front of on long, cool summer nights or in the more clement evenings of winter and fall.

There’s a circle of stones in the front yard. The dog and I gathered them one day in the old pickup and brought them here from the area near a remote lake higher up in the mountains. They’re various types and textures and they form the rim of a flower garden I planted for my woman’s pleasure.
Within it are plants and grasses suited to the arid heat. Now, as summer edges into fall, they’ve grown tall and thick and colorful. The display of them draws hummingbirds, bees and butterflies. It’s a magnificent circle of life and it took tending to get it this far.

When I was 13 my adopted family moved to the city from the small southwestern Ontario farm where we’d lived for three years.
When I got to Grade 8 that fall I felt isolated and lonely again.
So I did what every lonely, scared kid would do in order to fit in. I did what everyone else was doing. I hung out on the corner and smoked cigarettes. I talked trash and acted hip. I paid more attention to acceptance than my grades. It wasn’t long before I was restricted in everything.

This house we call a home nestles between towering pines and fir.
It’s 25 years old now, built by the knowing hand of a 72 year-old bachelor Swede. Sure, there are creaks to it and it’s drafty in winter but the view from the front window is exhilarating and we love it here.