A man is crossing the street.  Under one arm, a chainsaw.  Under the other, a log bucked short, presumably with the chainsaw.

This I notice, and sip my coffee, and it all means very little to me at the moment.  In downtown Montreal, in Vancouver, this man would cause a stir.  But not here.  It’s a natural sort of thing.  That morning, a house cat was chasing a deer, or embarrassing itself in the attempt.  Fish fall from the sky, eviscerated by eagles.

Bohemian is not a word frequently applied to northern communities in Canada.

But sometimes that’s just the right word, when that right state of mind sets in.

That instant before the fish rain down.


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