Jim McEwan comes from the Ottawa Valley. And frig it shows. In the best of ways. He’s worked with his hands, he loves watching and playing hockey, he knows his …
fiction
Agnes woke early. Earl was out of bed, starting the day. She couldn’t be bothered to know where he was. He could be tinkering with a car that no longer …
He walked up ahead of her a bit, head looking down, kicking leaves around him. She stopped moving forward, stood still taking him in. His head turned back to her …
My father was long out of the house. He had set his alarm for 5 a.m. and rose in the darkness with the slightest movements to ensure no one woke. …
I hadn’t worn the pants from my mother’s funeral since the day we laid her in the ground. I had pulled them off in a blur and left them crumbled …
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