Morning begins somewhere between the dream and the cup, the wide-coloured sky of unnameable blue and impossible clouds. These and the clear definition of tree and branch and houses echoed in the cool flat of the water. I don’t know the names of all the morning...
Just before sunrise ceremony on the morning of my wedding in 1995, Elder Vern Harper turned to me and said, “You need to learn from your own culture; your own roots,” to which I replied something to the effect of, “But I like yours better – as a white Anglo-Saxon...
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