Two nights after Christmas. We are somnolent and turkey-stuffed. The booming draws us to the windows, the flashing lights keep us there. Fireworks! With each explosion, the snow covering Lac Brome lights up. The colours are something out of Breughel, bonfires beyond the trees. The frozen world glitters in the sudden light.
His Lowered Head
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His Lowered Head What do I remember of springbesides the roar of the red
Masseysowing barley beyond the fenceand milk tasting slightly grassywith
the Holst...






















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