Mid August 1979 Andrew, Alberta

this is where my friend, Joyce’s first steps took her home and where her world was Easter this is where her perogies and holopchi took the baker out for lunch and where her pysanka became an icon to the land where soil is bread for the nation but seed for those who live in it who have bred new furrows for future harvests for us who living far east and west seldom consider how endless toil reshapes minds to bend to serving others who seldom check their assumptions this is where my friend, Joyce, learned to dance her doinas and horas with family and friends who knew what magic powers they own to transform routine to joy this is where sunsets never knew a resting place above her head and where her mind stretched in lonely plains amid scorching days and cold whispering nights where, when we are old our Easter will not have to be so punctuated and never properly late.