by Antonia Clark
or the certainty
of a cardinal against
the tenuous promise
of incipient green
by Calvin Wharton
a hymn of devotion to the green
and in the air, a red kite or team of swallows
by DF Parizeau
As youth, my friends and I
always picked the coldest weekend
of the year to go camping.
by Allan Lake
In exasperation my prairie mother
finally said something . . .
a door I'd never noticed,
opened, providing a way out.
by Irie Smith
The Earth tilts toward the heavens
And bribes me with promises of dreamlike views
My feet follow the beat of my hearts drum
Fast and breathless
Reminding me how much I like the taste of air
by Alexandra Rochester
Our blood is shrinking out of our fingers and toes to conserve our hearts, leaving us numb and wincing, and later screaming with pain when it returns as a burn. Icicles line their faces, and I watch their heaving chests try to subdue their sniffles.
Read Moreby Riun Blackwell
Riun Blackwell tells of riding the rails between North Vancouver and Lillooet in a Speeder Car.
Read Moreby Doreen Ramus
A small piece by Squamish's own Doreen Ramus, published in celebration of her long and wonderful life.