“Don’t step on the bird!” My head snaps around, swivels, finds the man who yelled this. Admire: the uncanny ability of the brain to map a hundred points on the human face and draw from these a conclusion that this person has just spoke, and was speaking to you. He is a man, broad jaw. Blond stubble. Elbows on the folding table and a half-finished beer in his hand. “Don’t fucking step on the bird!” I trip back on my heel, just in time, just in that exact flicker of a second to see the sparrow skitter under my uplifted toe. He is no bigger than a gumball. His wings flutter frantically, and [...click for more...]

Earlier this week, on a question-and-answer forum I frequent, a question was made that I liked. But in the flurry of elections and dinners and comings and goings of the week, I never got to answer. I want to do it now, and here, on my own e-turf — and invite others to answer with me, on their turf or mine. If your city, state or province was a person, what would it be like? My Winnipeg is an old man in a moth-bitten buffalo coat. He got it from his father, who used to be a police officer here before the [...click for more...]