January 2, 2003
We ought to have as many words for tears as the Inuit have for snow. Hot reluctant tears of liberation joypain sought channels down her cheeks as she headed down the unpaved hill to the highway. Trudging up from the store were Elspeth and André, the retired couple from across the lake, the morning paper a good excuse for a constitutional. Elspeth was 100 yards ahead. Community etiquette dictated stopping and rolling down the window. “Going somewhere?” she asked, eyeing the loaded car. “Back to the city…” (raised eyebrows) “I’m leaving, Elspeth.” “I wish I had your nerve,” she replied.