Windscript The Magazine of High School Writing Volume 37, 2021 - Windscript VOL.37 2021 1 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild
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windscript
The Magazine of High School Writing Volume 37, 2021
Windscript VOL. 37 2021 1
windscript
Volume 37, 2021
ISSN: 0822-2363
CONTENTS
©2021 Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild
Managing and Poetry Editor:
Taidgh Lynch
Associate Prose Editor:
Elena Bentley
4 Editors’ Notes 14 Mind Palace 30 New Clothes
Design and Layout: EVELYN FOURSTAR MOMIN BILAL
5 A Message from the
Shirley Fehr
Youth Poet Laureate 15 Christopher 31 Darling, our life is a circus
ELEANOR GRANT
Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild
100-1150 8th Avenue SEL ZBETNOFF
Regina, Saskatchewan
S4R 1C9
5 Awards
info@skwriter.com 16 The Seat of My Favourite 32 Running Away for the Night
www.skwriter.com
6 I am From Extraordinary Places Coffee Shop HEIDI TERFLOTH
GABRIELLE ROBERTSON CASSIE MEYER
Windscript has been publishing the best of Saskatchewan high school students’
literature since 1983 and was created by Victor Jerrett Enns, Executive Director of
33 Musings of a Bird
the Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild (SWG) from 1982 to 1988. His enthusiasm and 7 Be a Kid 18 The Stain BROOKE SAWATZKY
CLAIRE NAGEL JANE GURNEY
determination kept the magazine alive in its first two years until permanent
funding could be found.
For twenty-one years, the magazine was distributed free to all high schools and libraries in 34 To Nobody At All
the province. By 2004, funding sources were no longer available and the print publishing 8 Where the Wish Sails 20 The Dirt ANNA DOLGOVA
KAMRYN HEAVIN
of the magazine was replaced by electronic versions on the SWG website.
GRACELYN DEUTSCHER
36 A Tree’s View
In 2011, due to popular demand from students and teachers, as well as offering it online,
the SWG was once again able to publish this magazine for promising
young writers in print form. 10 Buried Treasure 22 Does the Past Become LILAH FLIEG-BACHESCHI
The SWG is a not-for-profit membership driven GRAEME HOPKINS Memory?
organization that strives to sustain and enhance an environment in Saskatchewan where
writers and all forms of writing flourish; to promote the well-being
JACK BELL 38 For They Were Ashamed
of all writers; and to advocate on their behalf. 12 Red NETHAN SINGBEIL
The SWG serves a membership spanning the entire province of Saskatchewan in Treaties
ERICA RACETTE 24 The Way Winter Has
2, 4, 5, 6, 8 and 10 which encompasses the unceded territories of the nêhiyawak (cree), Returned 40 I am My Own Conundrum
12 Seventeen NOLAN LONG GEORGINA DOYLE
Anihšinaˉpeˉ k (Saulteaux), Dakota, Lakota, Nakota and Dené Nations and the
Homeland of the Métis Nation.
The Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild gratefully acknowledges the support of
COURTNEY ELDSTROM
SaskLotteries and SaskCulture. 26 Supermarket Flowers 41 mirror
12 Trip SOHILA ELGEDAWI KELLY LAM
ERICA RACETTE
27 worlds collide 44 Contributor Bios
12 Too Much EMILY ZBARASCHUK
Photo credits COURTNEY ELDSTROM 46 Submission Guidelines
Front Cover, pg. 2, pg. 27: Andy Holmes, unsplash.com; pg. 6: Bella Huang, unsplash.com; 28 A Mind Gone
pg. 9: canva.com; pg. 13: canva.com; pg. 14: Avi Naim, unsplash.com; 13 A Glimpse of Heaven ABIGAIL FRIESEN 46 Participating Schools
pg. 17: Toa Heftiba, unsplash.com; pg. 18: Bernard Hermant, unsplash.com;
ANNA PUENTESPINA
pg. 21: canva.com; pg. 23: Jesus Rodriguez, unsplash.com;
pg. 24: Siddhant Prasad, unsplash.com; pg. 29: Valentina Aleksandrovna, unsplash.com;
pg. 32: canva.com; pg. 37: canva.com; pg. 39: Adi Goldstein, unsplash.com
2 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 3
Jerrett Enns Award
This award recognizes a high school student
MANAGING/POETRY EDITOR ASSOCIATE PROSE EDITOR YOUTH POET LAUREATE for excellence in poetry and prose writing. It
Taidgh Lynch Elena Bentley Peace Akintade
is named in honour of Victor Jerrett Enns who
was Executive Director of the Saskatchewan
Writers’ Guild from 1982 to 1988.
Welcome to Windscript 37!
Since 1983, Windscript has been promoting
What a humbling experience it was to work on The world is eagerly waiting to receive your
POETRY WINNER
Windscript 37! Choosing the prose pieces was a perspective on her beauty. Each word you sculpt
young writers from all over Saskatchewan and demanding yet thoroughly fulfilling experience, is creating universes out of memories, inspiration, Sohila Elgedawi -
every year another volume is published, which given all the incredible submissions I had the and unique experiences. I believe that young “Supermarket Flowers”
gives students the opportunity to get their writing privilege to read. Part of what I think makes this writers are the most powerful creation because
noticed. The success of the magazine not only issue of Windscript special is that despite all the we have the power to create culture. We are HONOURABLE MENTION
depends on the writers, but also the teachers, chaos, change, and upheaval the last year has the inscription of self-discovery, mixed with an Emily Zbaraschuk - “worlds collide”
parents, librarians, and unseen others who give brought us, these young writers not only continued unending need to form art. Imagine your feet are
their time and energy to promote and elevate
young writers.
to create art, but they were also undaunted in their
desire to share it. Their work serves as evidence
growing roots, your hands are branches, and your
words are oxygen. Do you think the tree knows
PROSE WINNER
As the submissions poured in, deciding what to that art is powerful, and necessary, in trying times. its influence? You may diminish your art, but your Kamryn Heavin - “The Dirt”
publish was challenging. In the end, I was delighted I feel very fortunate to have been a part of the words give life to others. I want you to remember
HONOURABLE MENTION
by the variety of content. The prose and poetry creation of such a wonderful issue, and so grateful how important your presence is. How important
that has been selected is a reflection of the high Gracelyn Deutscher - “Where the
to have had the health to do so. In the spirit of your vision is. I am filled with joy and energy when
quality of writing that is on offer in the province. thanks, I have to give many to the SWG for providing I think about the youths writing in their journals, Wish Sails”
If I had to pick one theme that the magazine me with an opportunity to continue to grow and or scrambling a line in the middle of the night. Your
embodies, I would say, “loss”—loss of support, learn as an editor. Thank you, Taidgh, for all your imagination knows no bounds. Promise me that
loss of childhood, loss of friendship, loss of culture,
loss of family, loss of memory, loss of the mind,
hard work putting volume 37 together, for your solid
leadership, and for your collaborative approach.
you fall in love with your work. Fall in love with the
feel of the keyboard, the curve of a pencil; a simple Currie-Hyland
Poetry Award
loss of time, and loss of identity. The writing in this Thank you to the writers—it was an absolute way of romanticizing your passion. When you fall
volume resonates with the time that we are living honour to work with you. Watching your work in love with your presence in the universe, the
in. In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, we evolve and develop during our time together was, universe falls in love with you! Go forth my seeds
face our own losses, both big and small, on a daily as many of you expressed to me, an amazing of change, my tree of wisdom. Create a galaxy in The Currie-Hyland Award for Poetry is awarded
basis. These losses are what make us human. No process. I was so impressed by your willingness your branches—give life to the readers! for excellence in poetry to a high school student
one is without them. to explore and experiment, the careful questions living outside Regina or Saskatoon. This award
I am grateful to the SWG for entrusting the you asked, and the thoughtful choices you made was established in 1992 by the Saskatchewan
magazine into my care. A big thank you goes to regarding your work. Most importantly, thank you Writers’ Guild and the literary community of
Cat Abenstein who was a fantastic support and was for trusting me with your stories. I certainly don’t Moose Jaw as a tribute to Robert Currie and
always available to answer any questions. This year, need to tell you to keep writing and pursuing your Gary Hyland.
I was joined by Elena Bentley as Associate Prose passions because if a global pandemic can’t stop
WINNER
Editor. Having two editors is a first for Windscript. It you, nothing will—and that gives me so much hope
was wonderful working with Elena. I couldn’t have for the future.
done it without her invaluable assistance and input. Georgina Doyle - “I am a Conundrum”
While much of the writing in this volume deals
with loss, resilience shines through and hopeful HONOURABLE MENTION
voices emerge. Please join me in celebrating the Cassie Meyer - “The Seat of My Favourite
writers of Windscript 37! Coffee Shop”
4 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 5
I am From
Extraordinary Places Be a Kid
GABRIELLE ROBERTSON CLAIRE NAGEL
I
When you were eight, they told you to go and play
am from my mothers and fathers who bring me joy. I am from many
To run, to adventure, to imagine
homes with different experiences. I am from beyond the horizon. I am
They told you to have fun
from the roses of the garden. I am from the deep dark blue eyes of
They told you, be a kid
my parents. I am from love and respect, from the golden rule. I am from
whispering audiences and dancing on the stage.
From the boat off the coast, to the ferry ride on the Atlantic. I am from
When you were twelve, they told you to act your age
land that overlooks water for miles. I am from fish and saltwater. From
To do your work, to be mature, to act proper
waves crashing against the rocks, and the feeling of the cool breeze on your
They told you to be a role model
face. I am from deserted islands covered in sand. I am from big snowfalls
They told you, grow up
and windy weather.
I am from wonderful people, interesting backgrounds, and across the
ocean. I am from extraordinary places.
Now you’re sixteen they tell you, slow down
To think, to learn, to take it in
They tell you to go back
To be that eight-year-old again
Don’t wish away the little time you have
They tell you, be a kid
6 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 7
Where the Wish Sails
GRACELYN DEUTSCHER
J
ordy adjusted his sail in the Laughing, they braced “Jordy and I found a bottle! “Yeah, you’re right!” the delivery. The smile on Old do it?”
direction of the wind. He themselves for the waves that It has a piece of paper in it! Let’s Jordy pointed at the note. Man Hick’s face when the waitress “I have no clue, but we have
watched as the cloth puffed pushed against them. Jordy open it!” “What if we could make his wish brought over the food made Jordy’s to try.”
out before pulling the small boat grabbed his girlfriend, Lana, and “Why would someone put a come true?” chest warm and he felt light. Like ****
through the water. He inhaled the lifted her onto his shoulders. Brian piece of paper in a bottle and then “What are you talking about?” he was walking on air. Jordy looked again at the bottle
slightly salty air, then leaned over did the same with his girlfriend, leave it in the ocean?” Brian asked. Lana asked. Old Man Hick read the note in his callused hand. A small smile
to pick up the glass bottle. Jenny, and they faced off. “Seems like a waste to me.” “What if we paid for a hot meal multiple times before opening the graced his lips and his eyes crinkled
It was habit. A habit that had After some good-hearted “My grandmother always told from one of the diners and had containers, almost like he was at the corners as he thought of that
spiraled out of his control. With trash talk and a few rounds of me that if you write down your them bring it to Hicks. We could terrified one wrong move would first day.
every bottle he found, his need wrestling, the couples started for wish on a piece of paper, put it in a ask them to give him this note with make them disappear. He brought “What are you thinking about?”
grew. He felt it in his veins and in land. Breathless, but happy, Jordy glass bottle, and give it to the sea, the food.” a spoonful of deep-fried fish to his a gentle voice asked.
his chest. wrapped his arm around Lana. She your wish might come true!” Lana Lana grinned and grabbed mouth and leaned back into the Jordy looked up at his loving wife.
His hair was grey now. His smiled at him before looking at the explained. Jordy’s hand. They rushed towards concrete barrier with a sigh. “Just thinking about the first
skin, worn and wrinkled. His beard, water. “Stupid,” Brian said, clearly Gibson’s Fish and Chips, the “We should do this. The two time we did this.”
bleached from sun and salt. “Jordy, look!” unimpressed. “Let’s go get popular diner on the boardwalk. of us,” Jordy said. He looked away He held up the new bottle.
The bottle felt familiar in his She was pointing at an object something to eat.” Jordy swung open the door to from the old man and stood up from Lana smiled as she looked at the
callused hand. They all had a floating six feet away from them. He grabbed Jenny’s arm and the diner for Lana, then bought the bench, grabbing Lana’s hands. sun reflecting off the glass.
similar weight to each other, and The glare of the sun reflected into pulled her away. a hot meal and asked for it to be “We should find more bottles. Old “It’s sure been a journey. You
after all these years it was hard for his eyes. Jordy released his girlfriend “Let’s open it,” Jordy said and delivered to the man sitting across Man Hick can’t be the only one to ready to see where this one takes us?”
him to forget when he opened the and swam towards the object. handed Lana the bottle. “You do the street with the plastic cup. put their wish in a bottle and throw “I’m always ready.”
first one. How warm and light he “It’s a bottle,” he said. the honours.” When they left the diner, they it into the sea.” Jordy took the cork from the
felt when he finished reading that He held it up for her to see. Lana took the bottle and pulled walked to a bench hoping to see “Are you sure? How would we bottle and unrolled the new wish.
first note. “It looks like there’s paper out the cork. She tipped the bottle
**** inside,” Lana said. upside down and gave it a little
The beach was crowded with “Bring it back to the towels and jerk to get the note. Putting down
people. Everyone wanted to we’ll open it!” the bottle, she unrolled the note
capitalize on the thirty-degree Lana’s smile grew bigger as and read it out loud:
weather. Jordy had to zigzag she raced out of the water. Jordy “I wish I could buy a hot meal.
around the towels and umbrellas quickly followed. When they got to Ross Hick. August 2019.”
that occupied every available the towels, Brian and Jenny looked “Babe, what are the chances
space. His best friend, Brian, was up confused. that’s Old Man Hick? The one who’s
on his heels, and their girlfriends “What took you guys so long? You always sitting by the shops with his
weren’t far behind. were right behind us,” Jenny said. plastic cup?”
8 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 9
Buried Treasure
GRAEME HOPKINS
I
’m startled into the present by together and we hang out. It’s fun, sister, but we’ve always hung out buried it in different places. They out of the crate. We all shout still come over? What now? Leave,
the aggressive rumble of the but we never choose to be around with her because she’s not that planned to return later, but they in excitement, but Sam looks if you want. I don’t care anymore.”
phone in my pocket. Just by the each other anymore. Sam and much younger than us. Michael is never did. confused. She walks up to the Michael and Sam storm off.
feel of it, I can tell it’s some kind of Michael found new friends. Me and sinking into the sofa, typing on his I jam my shovel into the dirt. coins and picks one up. The smile Eventually, I hear two cars drive
text message. Maddie, well, we just grew apart. phone. Sam is sitting in a chair and Michael, Sam, Maddie, and Gabbie instantly disappears from her face. away. Maddie is still standing
I found a bunch of new friends, looking down at her feet. Maddie all have one of their own. We’ve She looks devastated. there. For some reason, I stay. I
The bell rings, and I leave and I always assumed she found walks in. They don’t look up. Maddie been digging for hours. The sun “What is it?” I ask. I grab one think about what Maddie said. I
for break. I remove the buzzing new friends, too. I’ll probably used to be the center of attention. beats down on my skin, teasing of the coins to look at it myself. It look at my shovel, and I see the
phone from my pocket, awaken its meet them tomorrow. No one could not look at her and out sweat from my neck and arms. isn’t gold. It’s nothing but plastic. stickers I put on it years ago. Then,
dormant face, and see a text from I drive up the short dirt road listen to everything she said. We’re all exhausted, but we’re “What’s the deal? Your precious I see Maddie’s signature. When I
Maddie. to Maddie’s place. Dust flies up, “Um, guys? You remember motivated by how rich we would treasure is fake!” yells Michael. “Who look back at Maddie, she’s sitting
painting my car with dirt and mud. Max? Well, here he is!” Sam and be if we actually found the fabled told you that story? Your parents? slumped up against the trunk of a
What’s up? I always wanted to live closer to Michael both look up. Maddie gold. I can tell Michael is getting How come they didn’t tell you it was tree. I walk up to her and offer her
her. Her house backs onto a forest. speaks louder. angry. Whenever things get tense, fake? I don’t understand!” my hand.
Not much. U? When you’re standing in the middle “So, Max. I was just explaining Maddie talks in an overly happy “I’m … sorry,” Maddie whispers.
of this forest, you can look in every to the guys what we’re gonna do. voice and shouts over whoever Tears well up in her eyes and crawl
U free tmrw? direction and see nothing but trees Today, we want to finally find the else is speaking. slowly down her pale face. The
slowly fading into the horizon. treasure.” “Hey, this reminds me of that sun finally dips below the forested
Yeah y? Maddie runs up to me. She’s As kids, we would spend one time when we poured water horizon and douses our world in
wearing her trademark giant smile hours digging and looking for the over the sides of that hole we darkness. Her small lips quiver and
Wanna come over? and the same kind of ripped jeans treasure. When we were no more made! Sam slipped and her clothes twitch with every word.
she would always wear whenever than six or seven years old, Maddie got, like, totally wrecked! You guys “It was never supposed to
Sure we went into the forest. told us this old family story about remember that?” Maddie says. happen like this. It was a prank to
“Max! It’s been, like, way too some famous bandits who robbed “I found it!” get us all excited. I was only six
I know we haven’t hung out long! I feel like I haven’t seen you a bank. After being chased by the I look around to see who found years old! You were supposed to
for a while but it’s my b day in years! How are you?” police, they hid in the forest. To the treasure. I see Gabbie, and find it that first day, but you didn’t.
in a couple days. “I’m good. I know it’s still a save themselves from capture, the she’s holding a wooden crate. We You came back over and over again,
couple of days away, but, happy bandits lit the edges of the small all run as fast as we can to her. and we just kept digging. We had
Michael and Sam are gonna birthday!” forest on fire. But the fire spread, All of us except Maddie. Michael so much fun. But then we got older
be there too. “Thanks! Wanna come inside? and the thieves had to escape. The snatches the chest from Gabbie’s and you found new friends. I didn’t.
Sam and Michael are here.” only way out was to jump in the hands and opens the latch that I wasn’t good enough anymore.
Cool. I’ll be there. I walk through the door that river that ran through the forest. holds it shut. How did you forget about me? Too
leads into the living room of her They couldn’t take the loot with “No!” Maddie yells. busy making new friends, I guess.
house. I see Gabbie, Sam, and them because the gold would weigh I’m too excited to wonder why As soon as you arrived, I knew it
We all used to be friends. I Michael. Gabbie is pacing around them down and they would drown. she would say something like that. was hopeless. You’re too different.
mean, we technically still are. Every the room, head bowed, looking at So, with the short time they had Michael empties the contents onto If you had known the story was a lie
couple of months our parents get the floor. She’s Maddie’s younger left, they split up the treasure and the forest floor. Gold coins pour from the beginning, would you have
10 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 11
Red Seventeen
ERICA RACETTE COURTNEY ELDSTROM A Glimpse of Heaven
i’m falling for you One day
ANNA PUENTESPINA
for the same reason I’ll know what to do,
that i fear you where to go,
which makes me wonder who to be.
if love and fear
For now I am the Kingsmere River trail lying perfectly still between the twining trees.
are merely synonyms
it’s okay to be lost. I am the footprints left behind creating their own lasting memory.
under different shades of red
I am the lazy river that is hidden between the trees for no one to ever find except for those who truly look.
I am the warm sun that sits on their skin as they look up to the blue sky, soaking it all in.
I am the hair-raising water they float down leaving their systems shocked.
I am the reflection in the water mirroring their soft interlocking hands.
I am the jumping fish breaking through the water … Splash!
I am the broken tree they float under giving them a cool shade of relief.
Trip
I am a cloud, alone in the sky watching them laugh.
I am the yellow daisy listening to their laughs and admiring their young love.
Too Much
I am the faint sound of a bee hovering over the fresh dandelion.
I am the swift kayaker travelling past them, creating ripples in the water.
ERICA RACETTE I am the quick current pushing them through the branches while they spin uncontrollably.
I am a sandbar where the river ends, and the bends of the road begin.
COURTNEY ELDSTROM I am a rare river filled with beauty of all sorts.
some days I am a hidden gem dug up from the deepest mine.
he would put his foot out I am a glimpse of heaven.
so i’d trip So what, then?
and he’d catch me If not now, then when?
just to prove If not this, then what?
that he could
“Answer me.”
but one day
he put his foot out He doesn’t speak a word,
so i’d trip but the air suddenly shifts.
and i didn’t want him to catch me
just to prove He doesn’t like girls who ask hard questions.
I could catch myself
12 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 13
Christopher
ELEANOR GRANT
C
hristopher sat in his room. This thing was not his daddy. It didn’t as suddenly as the silence started,
He was supposed to be even sound human. He saw no colour it ended.
Mind Palace doing homework, but what
Daddy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt
evaporating from it. This thing probably
couldn’t feel anything.
He held Jeremiah to his chest
and covered him with his arms and
him. Christopher’s favourite thing Christopher whipped his body legs. Splotchy blue and orange
to do was watch the sunset with towards the stairs, ran back up evaporated from Jeremiah as the
EVELYN FOURSTAR his pet turtle, Jeremiah. Although to his room, and locked the door. bed flew across the room, exposing
Christopher couldn’t see it, it made He heard footsteps, first on the them to the dreaded thing.
Jeremiah happy and anything that wooden tiles, then on the hollow Christopher didn’t know what
You asked me made his turtle happy was worth stairs. He dashed under the bed happened after that, but he wasn’t
What is home to you? doing. He especially loved it in and hid behind his toy chest and scared anymore. All he knew was
I thought for awhile autumn because of how the leaves boxes that hadn’t been touched that he could see things that he
What is home to me? whistled in the wind. Mommy since the move. He clutched never could’ve dreamed of.
loved autumn. She liked the way Jeremiah to his chest. He saw everything.
Home is not just a place you lay your head the leaves crushed and crumbled The footsteps stopped in front Still holding Jeremiah, he stood
Or a place to fill your stomach with a Sunday roast underfoot. Christopher was sad of his door. Holding Jeremiah up and looked around. He was no
It’s where dreams sit on mantelpieces that his mommy wouldn’t be there tight, Christopher listened and longer in his room. He was in a
Where laughs brighten the room with warm light to see it this year. wondered where his daddy was. beautiful garden. He went searching
Home is not a place Christopher was blind, but he The doorknob shook vigorously, for his favourite flower, the ‘Lady in
It’s a feeling of wholeness and serenity could feel colour. It was like getting then it went quiet. Christopher was Red’ peony, but he found something
a headache of a different colour paralyzed with fear. All he could do much better. Christopher found his
Home is in my memories every time someone talked. He was pray and hope that his daddy mommy’s arms, and he wrapped
I live within the lyrics of “Another Day in Paradise” was four years old, but he’d already would burst through the front door himself in them as if they were a
I lay my head on my innocent juvenescence figured out what the colours meant. before this thing could find a way warm wool blanket. Then they
I cover up in the lack of knowledge He knew that orange was fear and into his room. found his daddy.
deep blue was despair, and the He fidgeted and grinned with Christopher was so happy to
What is home to you? scariest colour was red. Red was relief. But just as Christopher began have his mommy back.
Home is where I’m known best bad. Red meant danger. Today, to feel hopeful, he heard a click. He “Mommy,” Christopher whispered.
Where no such thing as judgement exists his turtle was seeping red, and it knew that this was no human. “Can we stay here forever?”
filled the room like an oil spill in the The thing pushed the door His mommy didn’t have to answer.
Home is my mind palace ocean. Something was wrong, and open. Its heavy footsteps got For in his heart, he already knew.
Jeremiah knew it. louder as it got closer to the last
Christopher felt scared, so he safe cranny of Christopher’s room.
ran down the stairs with Jeremiah Christopher prayed even harder
and called for his daddy. He ran than before. He prayed that his
into the kitchen and the living daddy was okay and he prayed that
room, but no matter how hard he he would come and save him. Hope,
searched, he couldn’t find him. now, seemed like a string of deep
“Christopher,” a distorted voice blue. He kept waiting for something
whispered in his left ear. The sound to happen. It seemed like nothing
was like nails scraping on a chalkboard. was ever going to happen. And then,
14 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 15
The Seat of My Favourite Coffee Shop
CASSIE MEYER
I always think that I’m over you I got so damn used to stepping into the kitchen
I finally start to believe And seeing ghosts of the people we once were
That I’ve moved past the way that we once were Slow dancing in the kitchen on a Sunday morning
But for some reason The faint smell of brewing coffee pervading the air
I can’t help but sit at the window seat  Winter sunshine filling the room with light
In my favourite coffee shop  Filling me with light
In the hope that you’ll walk by But now the rooms have gone dark
Perhaps you would see me sitting here And I don’t drink coffee anymore
The way we did many moons ago
Two people just existing side by side
I’ve found that the dull sting of heartbreak
Exists within every aspect of my life
Something about being back in this place Although it does fade
Makes me instinctively reach for my phone to call you It still wanders through the streets of my mind
My body goes on autopilot  As I sit here
Because I’m desperate to hear your voice Many years later
A voice that I once memorized In the window seat of my favourite coffee shop
But no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to remember it now
I still look for your car on every busy street
And for your face in every stranger
Every time I get a text I wonder if it’s you
See, I don’t think people ever truly move on
I think we simply learn to live with the pain 
Of losing the one that we love
I’ve lived in this state of melancholy for so long
That I’ve made a home here
And suddenly I don’t want to leave
I hung pictures of our heartbreak on the walls
And arranged our tattered furniture carefully
around the room
16 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 17
The Stain
JANE GURNEY
T
he apartment is hot and When I wake up I notice a I can taste it, but it’s still out of my apartment so I may show him I pick, pick, pick until my nails a difference. The steel is cold and
humid. When I walk in the small, round, reddish-brown dot reach. A stinging sensation makes the stain. bleed. Afterwards a thick, foul, red alien, something from an old life.
door, the heat hits me like a above the couch. It’s so small that me look down and I realize I’ve cut “You’re kidding me right? This fluid stains my skin; it smells like Soon I will not need these artificial
wave, washes over my eyes, nose, I wouldn’t have noticed it if the my hand. Blood blooms across the gotta be some kind of prank. You honey and meat just starting to tools. Through the haze I am
and hair, and settles at the back light hadn’t been just so. And yet, floor, merging with the coffee and like jokes?” spoil. I worry that I am not dreaming, vaguely aware of a low thrum that
of my neck. A buzzing fluorescent the light is just so. spreading through the cracks in the “What? No I—.” I try to stammer that I am becoming accustomed to fills my head, whispering sweet
light casts a sickly glow over the I am certain it wasn’t there tiles. I watch the pool grow before it out some kind of defence. “The its presence. It feels like company. praise. My gift will be appreciated
place, accentuating the tan carpet yesterday. Or maybe it was, I can’t occurs to me that I should probably stain is right there.” It’s looking at My own personal parasite. in the end. We will be whole.
and mildewy walls. I bring in my be sure. It’s a strange texture clean it up. I feel a bit sad as I clean both of us, a giant mass above my My bedroom is so hot that I When my palms run dry I find
bags, boxes, and an old couch. that reminds me of dried blood, a and sanitize, erasing the part of me couch. The landlord cuts me off. wake up drenched in sweat, my new places to carve—anywhere
The apartment has no fan and the scab waiting to be picked. I am so I left on the break room floor. “Even if there was some kind sheets sticking to me like flypaper. I can hollow out and offer up to
window is locked. Moving in alone very close to touching it when my I arrive home late at night, and of stain here—which, let’s not I can’t move an inch as I struggle my consumer. Standing is almost
isn’t easy, and soon beads of sweat phone rings—it’s my co-worker, immediately check the spot on the wall. kid ourselves, there isn’t—you to free myself. My tongue is impossible. My feet falter and I
form on my brow. A single drop wondering why I’m fifteen minutes It’s grown larger, contaminating can’t open the windows anyways. cracked and sweat falls into my lean against the stain, falling into
falls and plunges into the carpet. It late. An ancient watch on my wrist more and more of the space with It’s a security risk. Look at you, eyes. The smell of rotting flowers its warm embrace. The scab is
rests briefly at the surface before tells me otherwise. I hit it, but the its filth. I don’t know why I am so living alone. You’ll end up leaving and unmixed paint crawls around open and it hums lovingly, telling
being consumed by the fibres. hands stay stuck. I sigh, hurry off, disgusted by a simple stain, only the windows open at night. Easy my room and fills the back of my me how well I did, how I have so
I purchased the cheap apartment and forget all about the stain on that its eyeless shape watches pickings.” throat, clawing its way down. When much potential, so much to give.
from a man with yellow-stained my wall. me from across the room. My It is clear the conversation is over. I am finally free, I stagger out into So much more.
fingers who smelled like rot. He apartment is hot and humid, and So I return to my humid little cage the living room and stare longingly
handed me a small brass key Crash. I convince myself that if I can where the stain grows ever larger. at the stain, thoughts coming to the
coated in a sticky film that soap My hands fumble as I try to get permission from the landlord I start to see it everywhere. I surface from behind my eyes. Maybe
fails to cleanse. He only said one pick up the pieces of the still-warm to break the window lock and let feel the urge to pick, to peel and release wouldn’t be that awful. After
thing to me: “Rent’s due on the coffee cup. I’ve been floating some fresh air in, this perverse dig. It is a scab, a blight, a mass all, it would be so selfish to deny it
third of each month.” through my day, trying to keep mould will simply disappear. of rotting wood and wallpaper what it craves most.
Dinner is boxed pasta and an my thoughts from wandering. As I It takes me three days to finally eating through me. I pick at it in And so I turn my arm over,
apple I found in my bag. I notice collect the ceramic shards, I begin catch him. He never answers his my dreams. Pieces flake off in my examining soft, waiting flesh.
the bruise too late and my teeth to think about it. Why is the stain door, even when he knows I can hands and worm their way under Then I go to the kitchen and get
sink into brown, mealy flesh. there? The question makes my hear noises inside. He is blunt, yet my nails. It seeks out all the cracks a knife. The blade is a cheap one,
Dinner is now just boxed pasta. skull itch; the answer is so close courteous, and follows me back to where it can rest and burrow inside. but I sense that it doesn’t make
18 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 19The Dirt
KAMRYN HEAVIN
I
t’s not easy digging. It’s not should have kept my head down the dirt back into the hole. shard and didn’t know what I was I smile. “And what a beautiful interrupt. “Why don’t you take the
easy digging with blisters and accepted the excuses. I start to leave the hurt behind. doing until it was over. That, once morning it is.” day off, Alice?”
formed and already broken. And then I remember the I start to feel a little lighter. it was over, I couldn’t believe it, I set the lipstick down and She blinks. “But shouldn’t I
With my back and arms aching insults and the shoving, and the At some point, I start to laugh. and I desperately wanted to take rise from my stool. Today, there clean first? Won’t the dirt upset Mr.
from this unfamiliar labour. With endless, endless screaming. By the time the house comes it back. will be no need for foundation or Reynolds?”
fresh cuts stinging my palms. Well no one’s screaming now. back into view, the sky behind me I could say that. concealer. Oh, it will.
But I don’t stop. This is the part where I’m is stained a light pink. I’m barefoot, But I won’t. Today, I am wearing the cuts, The dirt will torture Mr.
Because this is good pain. The supposed to shed a tear. I’m stumbling all over, and covered When the maid, Alice, arrives scrapes, and bruises, for the very Reynolds.
best kind of pain. supposed to fall on my knees, head to toe in dirt. for work, I’m sitting at my vanity. last time. The dirt will drive Mr. Reynolds
The handle is awkward and overcome with grief and pretend Still laughing. I’m dressed in a deep crimson Because I have nothing to hide. absolutely mad.
shaky in my grip. The spade carries that he meant something in this When I enter the house, I stop dress, my hair is pinned up, and I will not bow my head. Yes, the dirt will make Mr.
less and less dirt from the hole world, that he will be missed. smiling. I’m painting my lips a blood red. I will not turn away. Reynolds scream and shout and
with each throw. I’m almost done. But after everything he’s taken It looks exactly the same, feels I listen to her soft footsteps Today, I will meet each look, spew curses like never before.
I’ve already decided I’m not going from me, I owe him nothing. exactly the same as it always has: on the stairs, her sharp intake of gasp, and whisper, with a smile. “My father won’t mind at all,”
down the full six feet. At about four I don’t give him a single word. as if the walls are closing in and breath as she draws to a halt in my “I noticed there’s quite a bit of I assure Alice, my lips curved
I call it good, and for once, no one Just one final kick. the ceiling is falling down. There’s doorway. dirt on the floor downstairs,” Alice in a downright wicked grin. “In
is telling me it’s not. The rug lands in the hole with a always been so much empty space “Miss Reynolds,” she greets says, watching me closely. “Would fact, I think he’ll become rather
I throw the shovel out first, hollow thud and unrolls enough for and never enough air. me, a hint of confusion in her voice. you like me to—“ comfortable with it.”
then hoist myself up. It’s the most me to see the contents. I take a deep breath. “It’s barely seven in the morning.” “That’s quite all right,” I
graceless act I’ve performed in One arm is pinned under his I walk across the floorboards
years, pulling myself out of that torso and one leg is bent at a that warned me.
hole. sickening angle. I don’t have to I stand in front of the door that
It’s marvellously, wondrously, see his chest to know that there’s hid me.
clumsy. a large gash there, another across I enter the room that broke me.
Standing there, surrounded his stomach. I don’t have to see his There’s the shower curtain, torn
by the trees and blissful silence, I face to know that his eyes are open off the bar. The mirror, shattered in
look down at the body. I wonder, wide, and the wound on his neck the sink. And the shard of glass,
for the very first time, if I’ve made is open even wider. I don’t have to forgotten in a puddle of blood.
a mistake. Maybe I should have see any of it to know he’s dead. I could say that I didn’t mean
been more forgiving. Maybe I I pick up the shovel and throw to do it. That I had picked up the
20 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 21Does the Past Become Memory?
JACK BELL
E
veryday was the same. I upstairs at all. I’ll never forget answer I received was my echo and accusations disappeared. I had
would get home from school when I realized that something was bouncing off the walls. never seen her do that before and
at 2:30 pm on the dot. I wrong with my grandma. I crept down her stairs. The I was scared.
would come through the back I was a little bit late getting stairs were carpeted and creaked It was a long night until my
door and slide off my shoes. I home that day. I had been caught at every shift and step. Surely, grandpa got home, and a long few
never wore lace-up shoes because up at school with a friend. The air she knows it’s me,I thought. Why years until we got a diagnosis.
I hated sitting on the creaky was cold. It was right before a isn’t she saying hello? Did I do When the phone rang, I was
wooden chair she kept pushed up snowfall and the wind was sharp. something wrong? When I got to the one to answer it. I often
against the wall. She denied it, but The walk home was torture. Like the bottom of the stairs, I met an answered it now. The doctor began
whoever sat in that chair fell victim routine, I slipped off my shoes and empty room undisturbed from the in a soft tone, like he was trying
to its splinters. Even though I had then dropped my bag. It thudded night before where we had family to encourage me to accept what
been told to put them on the rack on the ground, but she never came. over for a movie night. The popcorn he was about to say. Alzheimer’s
my whole life, I would leave my Maybe she thinks I’m someone bags laid stiff on the floor and echoed in my ears. The word sat in
shoes by the door. Then I’d let my else coming home,I wondered. empty pop cans were staggered the back of my throat. Alzheimer’s.
overstuffed backpack fall off and I stood there waiting to hear her on top of every surface. It’s almost I repeated the word and it came out
crash to the floor as my textbooks footsteps because after living with three, I thought. She would have like a heavy fog. Before the doctor
hit her travertine tiles, signaling I someone for so long you know who cleaned this up by now. could answer, I hung up the phone.
was home. Everyday she came out is coming just by their step. I slung my bag over the back I slowly drifted through the house
of the basement with a smile that I twisted around to pick up my of her chair and called out. Just to the living room where she spent
could fill a person with enough joy bag and shoes. I slowly walked before the echo could respond, most of her days humming and
to last a lifetime. She always stuck over to the shoe rack where I slid I ran back up the stairs skipping uneasily playing with her hands.
to her routine. She never missed a them into their parking spot just steps as I went. I called out again, I stopped at the doorway. She
day. And I felt safe. as she did. I shuffled along the but I still got no answer. I saw her looked up at me and smiled like
This is what she lost first: floor, dragging my feet, hoping to as I reached the top of the stairs, she always did. Before I knew what
her sense of routine. The change make my presence known. I hoped sitting at the dining room table. I was doing, I laid my head on her
was slow, and at the time it was that maybe she had just lost track She was facing out the window. My lap like I did when I was younger.
impossible to notice. She would be of time, and she would realize it heart was pounding and my worry I felt her body tense under my
a few seconds late coming up from was me and I would see her smile. turned into anger. Why didn’t she head. She was unsure, but after a
the basement after I dropped my But as I reached for the basement respond to me? Iwas so worried. few minutes she stroked my hair
bag on the ground. A few seconds door, the house was still as quiet as I stomped towards her, but when I like she used to. We stayed there
turned into a few minutes. And a few it was when I arrived home. touched her shoulder she recoiled in silence late into the night.
minutes turned into her not coming “Grandma,” I called. The only as if I were a stranger and my anger
22 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 23The Way Winter Has Returned
NOLAN LONG
I woke up shivering and alone in bed, The snow’s come back to our town.
Wrapped in sheets that did nothing to save me from freezing, At first fall, my mother told me to look out the kitchen window,
And nothing to replace your arms. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I sighed at the thought of winter. That’s when you loved me,
When the snow was coming down.
It’s been two years since I met you,
In the basement of a girl neither of us really knew. When I was finally forced to leave the house,
Without saying a word to one another, I raged within myself,
We laid on our backs and gazed at the stars through the roof, For sure as the snowflakes reminded me of your beautiful words,
But I only wanted to see your face. They scalded my skin.
I’m glad I met you,
In spite of all that followed. About a week ago I started talking to a new boy.
I thought it might help me finally rid myself of you.
For a year after that night, I saw you for only moments But though he was beautiful and kind,
And short greetings in the hallways. Everything was different.
I remember thinking, I’d love to be his friend. He wasn’t the lovely, caring boy I longed for.
It took so much to realize I’d fallen for you. He wasn’t you.
When I came to terms with the fact, There are two records on my shelf that I hadn’t played until today,
And saw the sky growing above me, Because it was the music we listened to together.
I hit the ground like hell, But just like I was forced to go out into the cold,
Had the breath knocked out of me, The ghost of our love made me play them,
And didn’t breathe again until you kissed me. And I wept in the basement in memory of you,
Not for the first time.
It’s been almost a year since that happened,
Since you approached me as the same precocious boy Every day I fear
I had become in my infatuation, All the parts of you I hoped I’d left behind.
But with spades more courage. The morning’s new hellscapes I must face.
Should I not be given respite from our history?
For a time, you loved me back. Is not the pain of my own emotion enough?
But that short winter we spent together And should I fear the Winter of every year?
Has reaped nothing but tragedy.
The story of you and of my ever-breaking heart Please just tell me,
Has become the source of my sorrow. Are you also thinking of me in this cold?
Are you also reminded of the time you carried me over the snow?
Now, every day that goes by I’m forced to wade in the memories Or have you outgrown me,
Which serve no purpose but to hurt me, Leaving me insignificant in myself?
Because sure as it’s been long enough,
Pray for me come January,
I miss you more than I ever longed for you. For should I have to experience you leaving me all over again,
I don’t know what I’ll do I might not make it.
When the anniversary of your leaving finally comes.
24 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 25Supermarket Flowers worlds collide
SOHILA ELGEDAWI EMILY ZBARASCHUK
I’m restocking shelves and before i met you,
he stands in front of the flower stand.
infinity was
The fluorescent lights baring
a waxen face and chapped lips. nothing more than
grains of sand on a beach,
He reaches for sunflowers; the waistline of the universe—
hesitates.
a measure w i d e r
They’re not right,
his lips say. than my arms could span,
I wonder why not; greater
sunflowers are pretty.
than my mind could hold.
He looks across the peonies, the lilies, the geraniums.
I can tell by the flexing of his hands. but when we met,
None of them are the answer. time waned and waxed around us.
when we touched,
I can see how he longed for one.
A prayer spills from his lips; constellations tangled,
desperation from his eyes. horizons untethered,
gravity lost its pull.
The resolve washes over his face
as he reaches for the roses.
He holds them like a prayer in his hands, Galaxies colliding cannot compare
brushing the petals with pious fingers. to knowing
Salvation, his eyes say.
that nights spent numbering stars
And I could see how he longed for it. are needed no longer
because you are the infinity
I wonder what the gods think of us now,
within my reach.
praying to supermarket roses rather than them.
26 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 27A Mind Gone
ABIGAIL FRIESEN
T
he old woman sat slumped in turned into half an hour, which person—so bright and beautiful— Her heart soared. He was window. She sighed as her mother
her hospital bed. Her breath soon became fifteen minutes, and the world had lost. home! Oh, he was finally home! brushed the hair off her forehead.
was steady, softly rasping then five. “Wherever you are, Mom,” She leaped with all her might Before sleep could claim her
in her throat as the air struggled But today was her mother’s she whispered, smiling in spite of into her father’s strong arms. mind completely, she saw a break
out of her withering lungs. Her birthday. herself and the hope that foolishly “Papa,” she gasped, a smile in the grey sky. For just a second,
daughter sat in the worn recliner Weeks ago, someone had kindly swelled in her chest. “I hope it’s beaming on her face. “What are the clouds parted. Sunlight flowed
chair beside her, fiddling with her placed a small vase of flowers on somewhere good.” you doing here?” golden upon the land, reaching out
purse and checking her watch the side table to liven up the room. She’s far away, she thought, “Cara, my little spud! How could I with soft fingers, illuminating the
every few minutes. No words were Delicate flowers that were once shaking her head. She stepped be gone for my little girl’s birthday?” people she loved the most. Cara
exchanged between them. The old bright oranges and brilliant pinks out of the small, stuffy room, and Her birthday. felt within her something sinking
woman’s failing blue eyes were were now dull and faded, wilting away from the unbearable silence Cara had thought nothing of the deep into her bones. Something
trained on the window. far too quickly. The daughter found that would forever be her mother. day. Tough years made sorrowful that touched her soul. As her eyes
Her mind is gone, they all said. herself staring at them. She felt a And it was true. For in the days. Her mother and siblings made closed, she knew.
The daughter knew this. She knew tender throbbing in her chest, until golden light of dusk, the old woman no unusual affections towards her.
her mother would never again talk, she noticed her mother blink once, was far away from the bed her frail Why should they? Celebration was for ***
or move, or even shift her gaze. long and slow. The old woman’s body sat upon. the grand, and Cara was not grand.
She no longer believed her mother fingers twitched. Her father hung his hat on the As the daughter walked to
could hear the words she spoke “Mom?” *** wall and then her mother, smiling her car, she looked up at the grey
to her, so she abandoned them It was the first thing she brightly, revealed a gift. Her siblings November sky. Snow fell gently
over time. The doctors, nurses, had said to her mother in a long The cool, bitter wind stung the laughed and sang songs. Joy was on her hair while the tears slipped
family, and friends could only shake time. She reached out and gently small girl’s cheek as she bounded brimming from their small homestead. down her face. She smiled. In her
their heads in sadness. There was placed her fingers on her mother’s down the dirt pathway. She had Her father had even brought oranges heart, she believed her mother was
nothing they could do. hand. She watched, eyes wide, been outside, picking at the hard home. Oranges! She felt gladness somewhere truly good, somewhere
The daughter dutifully spent but the old woman didn’t move. soil that was her mama’s garden. blossom in her chest. she could be free. And in that moment,
one hour every week in painstaking The rhythmic sound of her ragged The smell of fresh bread wafted in The evening drove on far too the clouds parted, illuminating her in
silence, watching her mother who breathing was all that filled the the air and quickly found its way to quickly. Cara found herself on her flowing golden light.
couldn’t raise her chin from her silence. The daughter waited, but her, but nobody called her in. She father’s knee next to her younger
chest. She sat there because she her heart sank with every silent, was beginning to think they had sister who had claimed the other.
knew her mother deserved at least passing second. Tears that never forgotten her. Her belly was bursting with warm
that much. Yet life proved to be too came now spilled over her cheeks. She was almost home when stew and freshly buttered bread,
time consuming, and the daughter She cried for a long time. She she saw the door swing open. A tall and now drowsiness settled upon her
found herself too busy to find the cried for the mother she would figure, with a familiar twinkle in his drooping eyelids. Perfectly content,
extra time in her week. The hour never have again, and for the eye, stood in the doorway. Cara gazed through the small
28 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 29Darling, our life is a circus
SEL ZBETNOFF
New Clothes
People come from far and wide, creating an audience.
Critics queue to catch a glimpse of our imaginary beards.
We are a simple concept that some people just can’t grasp.
MOMIN BILAL We are a topic of conversation for being much more than “normal”.
Darling, our life is a circus.
New clothes, mandated upon me by unfamiliar faces, Our given names are screamed through the air by the close-minded ringleader.
Sewn with the cries of my people, dull and lifeless. Our life choices are commercialized and amplified by the megaphone of opinion.
They were a layer of disconnection surrounding my soul, Our “lifestyle” is something people watch from the edge of their seats.
Forcing me to forget my beaded, colourful, traditional clothes. Our every move highlighted with the spotlights of judgement.
The fabrics, which instead of comforting me with warmth and vitality,
Acted as armour; hard, mechanical, and cold. Darling, our life is a circus.
The shoes and socks leading my feet, reminded me not to step out of line,
One wrong step and I would be beaten. Some agree with our way of life, but those who don’t love to speak
The shirt, ordinary from a glance but irritating on the inside. Our trainers shock us to balance on our unwanted paths.
Its sleeves digging into my flesh, its high collar smothering my emotions. We have the tempers of kittens but are made out to be monstrous tigers
The constricting band at the waist, We are harmless, but can terrify a person by simply existing.
Not given to me as a way to hold myself together,
But used to break me. Darling, our life is a circus.
Finally, a headband,
A target on my head that read “Assimilate me”, We are an act to be talked about,
Visible to only those who desired to see it. We are an act that’s laughed at.
“Bring back my old clothes please,” I say. We are an act because we stray from expectations
We are an act because of our love.
Darling, our life is a circus.
But my dear, my love is a net to catch you when you fall from the tightrope.
Your embrace is the safety harness they never offered us
Our hope is the key to free us from this place
If it means I can protect you, Darling I’ll turn my words into flames
And I’ll burn this circus to the ground.
30 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 31Musings of a Bird
Running Away for the Night BROOKE SAWATZKY
HEIDI TERFLOTH The humans had been acting strange lately,
Mused the little bird. Normally they were always
Going somewhere, always had places to be.
I
am so small in the darkness. Tiny pinpricks of light speckle the Humans lived their lives in a blur of motion,
abyss above me like sprinkles tossed across a cake. There’s no Constantly striving to do more, to make more, to be more
particular order, but everything seems right where it should be. Never stopping, rarely registering their surroundings.
Blades of grass tickle my arms and cheeks. The ground is soft What had changed? Wondered the little bird,
underneath me, and a light breeze wisps my nutmeg hair across my Now that the humans spent their days
face. Everything smells like fresh rain. All I can hear are the crickets Locked away in their homes,
and the faint sound of faraway cars on the freeway. Some of them, all alone.
This lack of technology feels odd. I’m not sure what to do. I’m not As the little bird alighted
bored—maybe a little lost, like a piece of me is missing. But the hole On one of his preferred perches,
slowly fills as I realize that I don’t need my phone right now because He felt a pair of eyes watching him
I’m here, and that’s all I want. The night tips. It dives and winds itself Human eyes. Those eyes followed him around,
into a little ball and plants itself in my chest. I don’t need the internet. And they seemed sad to see him go.
Or people. I need the sky. I need every star and planet up there. I This was a memory he often pondered,
tuck them into my memory and I plan to never let them go. As it did not match his previous experiences
I wish I could get away from the city more often. To run and run When the humans had paid him little mind,
and run into the night, to a random hill in the middle of nowhere, like Often not noticing him at all.
this one, away from civilization and responsibility. To collapse on the They used to disturb his day with their constant need for noise
ground panting, but laughing, and filled with passion. It seems like I So, when did they learn to appreciate the silence?
never get to run like this in the city. No high-rises or factories get in Yes, the humans were certainly acting differently
the way here. I can escape every email and video, dodge all the wires But the little bird was not one to complain
blocking my path, and never look back. As the peace and quiet was a pleasant change
But I have to go back. I have a life in the city and I can’t survive Though it did feel odd, as he flew over town
on my own. Maybe I’ll turn off the modem. To be honest, I probably To see so many humans aimlessly walking around.
won’t because I am human, and humans are addicted to the internet. Usually they traveled in their machines that growled
I need it to connect with people and for work. I promise myself I will Yet now they preferred to wander on their own feet
come back. I promise that I will marvel at the sky again one day. And the little bird was ever so confused
As to why the humans no longer traveled in groups,
But rather in twos or threes,
With such large distances between them
And with strange coverings over their beaks.
They seemed such curious creatures,
That they would choose to obscure their features.
From up above, the humans looked like leaves,
Not seeming to care where the wind carried them.
Still, strange as they may be,
Humans had faced change before, quite resolutely
And the little bird knew, without a doubt
That whatever problems the humans now faced
Sooner or later, they would figure it out.
32 Windscript VOL. 37 2021 33You can also read
