When in delicious remembering my mind runs back to Sitka, what does it see? Not the little old town with a long wharf approach straddling over mudflats, its final planks meeting the dirt roadway of Sitka’s main street; not the quaint Russian church which is one of Sitka’s…
Author: Emily Carr
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I live in part of Alice’s house. My studio window overlooks her garden. Beside my window is Alice’s sparrow bush, a great rounded mock-orange shrub, whose myriad stalks and twigs are of just the right gripping size for the feet of sparrows. Alice is nearly blind. She…
Two boys motoring to a near lake to swim invited, “Come along.” “Not to swim, thank you. Drop me on your way at that old forsaken farm in the woods.” I climbed out, their crazy old car wheezed away. I went through a broken gateway and…
