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She has just showered, and her hair hangs limp down her back, washed of the shampoo she waited five minutes, forehead against the cool tile wall, to rinse off. The sky is ink and charcoal, but then, it has been for hours.

Winter caught my Christmas lights 

and froze them into icicles— 

now even the cold knows how to shine. 

This world we carry on our backs gets heavy sometimes 

our arms ache as we stare at the path ahead, 

a path we can't see an end to

pieces fall off and we wonder if they were important

Japan, 1863

I made the long walk

Across the plains,

through the village path

under the stars.

At long last, I came to the monastery

where a message was waiting on the fax machine:

On April 1, 2025, the 2024 Jasper wildfire was finally declared extinguished by Parks Canada, marking an end to the nine-month-long struggle against Jasper National Park’s largest wildfire in more than a century.

My dog,

Her fur like snow,

She protects and loves us.

Her beautiful, gentle heart is,

Her shine.