My car, my yard, some snow. Hornby Island Winter 2021
A best pal and kindred spirit.
He lived on the waterfront across from me -
on four properties side-by-side.
We’d sit on my deck and drink putrid bile beer,
"But hey, at least it’s cold."
A talker
and a tall Norwegian
who said inappropriate things.
From Crescent Beach.
He loved genealogy and knew more about my ancestral family than me.
I’d often see him when I was out for long walks, and we’d continue on together.
He’d point, "There’s a Norwegian!"
We’d draft blueprints for utopia and tactics for coups,
But it’d be unsustainable.
Me and Dave and Roy standin’ around, shootin’ the shit,
We fought Viking battles together,
spiced rum
nodding in unison.
His brain held a lot of information.
Kirby, his water dog, was always by his side.
A retired public servant, horticulturist and genius who knew everyone.
Married with two adult daughters and two granddaughters.
He took his elderly father to Norway for one last visit.
A lovely human and a dear friend who helped me keep it together.
A fellow city escapee staying on the island during the pandemic.
We compared island gossip,
the outsiders, with insider knowledge.
When he died, his daughter called me.
