The openness, the freedom stretches out ahead. A long and continuous plain of possibility. Go as fast as you want. Cross the centre line.
Windows rolled down, the violent rush of air smells of something you’d almost forgotten. It tastes so fresh and sharp it almost cuts your tongue.
Press your foot down to floor. Vibration rattles your arms, your finger. The hands that will write the words.
some pandemic perceptions from somewhere in canada
Official blog of Canada's national editorial association
by Ruann Weidemann
A compilation of current reporting and archived published work of journalist Nate Thayer
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