It’s just a gloomy day, that’s all.
And a deficiency in vitamins.
Nothing to worry about. Nothing that can’t be fixed or undone.
The tides have asserted their presence somewhere else;
All is withdrawn.
Leaders have lost. They’re riding down their memoirs.
Misspelled dignity. Soiled sanctity. All will come to light grace à Charbonneau.
Politics will persist. Putrid and triste.
I have some plans of my own pour le Nord.
That’s a lie.
I will never venture into that unmarked wilderness. That untamed geography.
Quiet in its mild, measured entropy.
I will light no great lights up there nor dive into the seabeds of cavernous rock.
I will leave it untamed.
My plans are for absence.
For the tide is returning here.
To my province and my time and my people.
by Michael Clarke
All Rights Reserved