This Moraine's Terminal

  A Place in the Woods Faith in Jasper Article     If you were to go there in February under a consoling 2pm sun, the hushed clearing, the ring of snow, would glisten brightly, there in that sanctuary in the woods away from the noise of the town. A place of pale-breathed hopes, of kind skies and forests pushed back, a communion with more than one’s wishes, more than one’s wounds.   A sort of promise pervaded the scene, I recall, which is perhaps why a return visit was in order. These several weeks have not been without their struggles. Some breathing space was needed. Past Pyramid Lake, then, trail 2b to 2h, an upward ascent to the knoll knuckled under to form what is known as Katrine Lake. (‘Lake’ is a generous term, indeed!)   But what is this? Not the peacock shades of Patricia or the Lodge-side lakes. Not the crystalline waters of the Maligne river. Nor even the inviting shores of the second Mina lake for a quick midday skinnie. No, the water...

  Coffins on the Waters – A Faith in Jasper Article   Coffins on the waters, caskets and cascades. The dead head North, mortality’s migration of unmoored souls. Bobbing in the broil of the rapids, chutes and Falls, scraped up on the shoals, river-silted, drifting past the uprooted tree trunks that await a higher flow, now water-logged and leaning, sloshing drunkenly, the pine panels yellow, caught in the eddies of the green-blue flow: an armada on the Athabasca of the terminable interned. Ghostly paddlers ride the current downstream, hollow knocking “Who’s there?”, when perchance their death-crafts collide. Coffins on the waters, caskets and cascades.   The passed-on pass by - before the frost becomes the Winter, before the river freezes an edge, acquires a pale skin, the river running - the river rigor mortis to be, vaporing mornings no more. Mourning, mourned, moving on before the crush of ice, buckles sides and pops up lids,- satin linings and fast fixed eyes...