writing – because i said

Little John

After the celebration and a near-sleepless night, I stumbled into the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine, then the radio. A male voice came on. It said the Province of Alberta was in the grip of a weasels epidemic.

“The return of weasels is unprecedented,” a second voice said, sounding a note of panic. This one belonged to a doctor. “We thought weasels had been eradicated generations ago, and yet here we are again, having learned nothing.”

Holes

As cemeteries go, the Greenville Cemetery is rather a poor show. A few picturesque headstones crowded together atop a low hill, shaded by some handsome trees. The oldest headstones, tilting at odd angles and licked clean by wind and rain, are illegible. Meanwhile, below the small rise I’m standing on, newer stones bake in the hot sun, letters and numbers still crisp and emphatic.