Pawing at the Ground: Part One

She climbed into her bed, her freshly cleaned skin soft and young against the sheets. The girl was 12 probably, at least not older, and her  hair cradled her face in bouncy waves that went an inch past her shoulders. Her cheeks were red and full, like waxed apples fresh from the tree. Her nightgown had a bunny on the chest, and it seemed to wiggle it's nose as the girl climbed into bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and stared at the ceiling. Her brown eyes seemed to search for some kind of meaning in the tile. "Where are you?" she said out loud. Her question hung in the air, accompanied by rain pounding on the roof and thunder just miles away. Nothing happened. No answer came.

Pushing the thought from her mind, the girl turned sideways and closed her eyes, clasping her hands under her cheek. She took a deep breath in and fluttered her eyes open as she exhaled. The girl now faced her window. It was huge, and covered almost half of her wall. It was usually covered with curtains or blinds but when it rained she like to have it wide open. She liked the patterns the drops made on the glass. It was the only ground-floor window they had in the house, in fact, the only bedroom on the ground floor. The girl had always been removed from the rest of her family, who lived most of their lives in the main and upper floors of the mansion-esque home.

She closed her eyes again and soon felt the cloud-like fingers of the dream-people caress her mind. Before long she was in a heavy trance: Awake just enough to be woken with the call of a name or the touch of a hand; but in a sleep-daze so that she could see her unanswered questions and memories slowly spin in the backs of her eyelids as her surroundings fell out of view. But something was preventing her from slipping totally under. Some kind of heat radiated just above her eyelashes, in the center of her forehead. She wrinkled her brow as if to shake it off, took a breath and fidgeted. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed some miles away. She squirmed. The heat grew stronger, more powerful... It was starting to ache.

Her eyes snapped open.

And there he was.

Outside of the window, with a hand pressed against the glass. The man, scrawny and wet, stared at her hungrily. At her awakening, a curl of a smile played across his lips. He wanted her. He could see the fear in her eyes, almost hear her quiet gasp through the glass.

But she did not look away. 

Sick with a Star

There I was
Curled up in a ball,
Just me,
Stripped of all the usual
Things That Sparkle

Sick and worried
About being the latecomer

It wasn't so late at night that
You wanted to make yourself
A bowl of buttery popcorn.
Not too early that you were
Feeling like a rebel, awake when
Everything else had been asleep for hours

But just in-between,
Where you probably should be
Getting to bed.

Except I wasn't.
And I wasn't alone, either.

There we were,
Me and an angel.
Just sitting down causally,
Like there was nothing extraordinary about it.

On a bathroom floor,
With our eyes wide and
Our legs sore
From not moving for so long

We talked about normal things,
Worldly worries.
But her wisdom seemed to make them
Special,
Like they came from the stars,
Like she came from the stars.

And she probably did.

Four Canadian Food Things

Though I live and breath most of my air in the United States of America, my true roots lie in the country upstairs: Canada. I am in the province of Ontario now, and I thought I'd share with you a couple of little food quirks of the country that you probably didn't know before.

NUMBER ONE: MILK 

Milk comes in bags here. I'm serious. Plastic. Bags. You buy milk in bags that are all bundled into another, bigger bag. When you get home, you put your milk bag in a jug and you cut the corner of the plastic bag off so you can pour your milk. Rules of the milk bag include #1, if you finish the milk, you must throw out the bag and replace it (which includes cutting the corner off), #2, if there's a teensy bit of milk left, don't put it in the fridge - just finish it. And those are only 2 of the many rules of milk bag etiquette.  

This is milk in a bag:

This is milk in a bag in a bag:

This is milk in a bag in a jug:

It's actually better for the environment because the bags use less plastic than jugs! In general, Canadian milk is a treasure to behold. If you don't believe me, watch this video. 

NUMBER TWO: POUTINE

What is Poutine, you ask? It's DELICIOUSNESS. Poutine = fries covered in gravy and cheese and DELICIOUSNESS! It's a signature Canadian dish and this is what it looks like:

 

Also, it's almost as common here to put vinegar on your fries as it is ketchup! When you go to McDonalds, they give you little plastic packages of malt vinegar as well as the usual fixin's. 

NUMBER THREE: BLUEBERRIES

Have you ever had a fresh wild blueberry when they're in season in the more Northern part of Canada? They're tiny and sweet and so delicious you could eat until you passed out from digestive exhaustion. YUM.

NUMBER FOUR: CANADIAN CANDY

Sometimes I feel sorry for my American friends who will probably never taste the divine sweetness of a Caramilk or an Aero Bar. Sadly, you will never bite down on the crunchy shell of a Cadbury egg or indulge in a Laura Secord chocolate. I heard a rumor that there are no Maynards down in the US. If this is the case... It's a sad day for us all. A sour cherry Maynard could turn your life around.