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"One True Sentence" by Sherry Cassells

Yesterday was one of those snow-stormy I’m-not-going-out Saturdays so I built a fire and started writing a letter, longhand, but it came out looking like I’d knitted it, all messy and stringy and I didn’t feel like it anyway and then something shifted and I wanted to be outside, so full snow gear later I went out and started walking down the big hill to the lake and it’s a long way down through gorgeous shifting layers of colour and when I got down to the harbour the ice was thick but broken and I couldn't see the rink but spotted what I thought was a dead goose until I saw it was a forgotten goalie pad and I kept walking through the forest where the ground was dirt here and deep snow there and by the time I got to the lighthouse where the lake opens up I was warm and there was one little duck hurtling around in the waves like he was the only one kept his promise and then a huge rectangle of ice floated from the harbour, slowly with swing, edging itself into the lake proper and when I realized it was the rink I said to the duck well you don’t see that every day do you.

Sherry lives in the wilds of Ontario where she writes the kind of stories she longs to read and can rarely find.


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