Alberta seemed a world away
that summer of ’93, serenity hung in the air
everything looked like a painting,
like a plein-air masterpiece
and misty mornings quenched flora
with maternal love.
An owl, in rustic barn loft window
fat and content
gave animatronic blinks
there were cows grazing on long grass,
heads between weathered wood-
rail fences with languid looks
worn signs on side-road posts, never replaced
or painted because, locals know
where they’re going.
There were kilometers of highway hemmed
by vast fields of canola flowers
blooming, blinding in midday sun, glorious
aspen gold highlighted on nature’s
canvas, slathered with a base
of fresh avocado green.
Copyright Michael J. Donnelly 2017