Twitching whiskers, a panoramic adventure: a scruffy fieldmouse, regretting its curiosity...

Now the circle has widened, and that same ray refracts and floods new spaces with Hope and Promise anew. The seeds have been sown and the harvest will once again fill the granaries.

The aboiteau allowed saltwater marshes to be eventually replenished with fresh water so that they would have agricultural utility. This poem uses the aboiteau, not as a commentary on Acadian history, but as a statement of my own personal journey.

“Fait beau!” is how you’re greeted when you gas up at the Co-op or when you walk by one of the yards bursting with flowers and fierté acadienne, with the Deportation of 1755 in the past, but not too much so.

It has always been home, this place, before I ever even knew it