whispering on the smile of a baby koala peeking over her mama’s ears as somewhere in the Adirondacks the daughter of the chief of the Algonquin tribe smiles and the dancing begins . . . when better . . . mid-winter and no one British or American for miles and time to be . . . having to pretend to be white the rest of the time . . . hurts . . . better to be free if only for a day . . .
my winter series post for today over on my Substack at the link.
