Editor:
Cinnamon toothpicks at Redwood, Ice fishing on shallow Co-op; everything the past said, should remain even though we grow up.
Skating forever on Burns the year it froze before it snowed; our inner Muriel Mould quickly learns as the past grows before you knowed.
Birthday fishing behind Babine, a Canada Day secret pact; now the scarred shards lean on pieces of the past left to act.
Walking to school down the gully, falling in sometimes, to dry socks later; pieces of industry, home, pull me. The East of Burns Lake cries, shocks, craters.
I love you Burns Lake
Byron Matthew Dyck