It’s hard to put a feeling on the kind of patriotism that is awakened by a morning run around the Plains of Abraham on the first day of fall. This is Canada, but you can’t see a Canadian flag for trying.
This is Canada, a country nearly torn asunder by separatism, but my Quebecois friend insists we stop at a statue of Rene Levesque for a moment of “je me souviens”.
This is Canada, and if you’re not from here you don’t get it, and if you’re from here, you can’t explain it.
Mon pays ce n’est pas un pays, c’est l’hiver. My country is not a country, it’s winter with all its beauty, isolation, bitterness and necessary harshness and desolation.
And it’s only a few leaves on the trees away…
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