twas a night of tea cups and knitting needles. there was a shared feeling of sheer contentment. of quiet happiness in the company of friends. while many of the others escaped residence we few who remained, namely gill and i, took complete advantage of the eerie, desolate and deserted dormatory. my room tidied and put back to order after the first week of midterms we listened to our mellow melodies and simply relaxed. it was wonderful. we talked. we knit. we ate candy and cookies whilst sipping green tea. we also learned the incredibly important skills of the game of backgammon. blot! i enjoy that game very much. the compact suitcase with the roll-a-dice-cups make me happy. even if i lost. and to only add to the feeling of coziness was the drip of rain dropping outside our window blending and swirling with the streams of music. and the thunder and lightening sent shivers of excitement down me spine. the thrill of a storm. while safe inside.

gillian: "you cannot pervert a brain."

i also feel it necessary to comment on my most recent field trip for canadian literature to the tantramar marshes. it was like i was revisiting my homeland. yet seeing it with a greater depth and appreciation. it, too, was another rainy day but we were undaunted in our excitement of reading sir charles roberts' poetry while seeing the very landscape which he was describing. we barely felt the cold. we read his poems in the barn, on the dykes and in the church. his life and lines were inspiring. through his sombre, grim portrayal of the canadian landscape his words still emanate a love towards this tough sort of beauty. and not only were we being given this guided, narrated tour of the marshes with dr. mantz but we had the honour of being his guests for supper that very evening. we had a most intersting casserole which i managed to eat while his sweet english wife served us tea and tarts and told us stories of when she was a little girl living in scotland. it was a glorious day.

-here on the hill-
here on the hill
at last the soul sees clear
desire being still
the high unseen appears
the thin grass bends
one way, and hushed attends
unknown the gracious ends
where the sheep's pasturing feet
have cleft the sods
the mystic light lies sweet
the very clods
in purpling hues elate
thrill to their fate
the high rock-hollows wait
expecting gods
~sir charles g. d. roberts


[sparklers in illinoise. raindrops in michigan]

"pawn!"