Under the wide brim of western reconciliation…


By G. D. Maxwell
After the morning rain, in the brief interlude of afternoon sunshine, I sat on the Longhorn patio, nursing a local IPA, watching machines dismantle the last of Whistler’s bike park, wondering when the earth tones would be replaced by 50 shades of white, listening to a table full of Instant Locals agonize over the lack of snow and realizing I’ve finally been here long enough that I don’t agonize anymore—I’ll just take it whenever it finally comes. The sun had warmth but was playing hide and seek with increasingly threatening-looking clouds.…

Source:: Under the wide brim of western reconciliation…


November 21, 2019

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