SAPLING Sunday mornings, Mom attends mass at St. Ambrose Church while Dad takes me to High Park where I play in the garden of God’s splendour. The crisp air is salty with a cooling breeze from the lake. The earth beneath our feet emanates summer’s stored heat. I feed the geese and mallards at Grenadier Pond mouldy Italian bread, line up for my turn on the slide, and swing high to fly away like a sparrow – aiming for the moon that one time it hung in the fading turquoise…
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