by Leah Perrault | Dec 21, 2021
Photo Credit: Amy Bunce For the first holiday outing in our new city, we headed out for the tree lighting in the town square. (It felt very Stars Hallow, for the Gilmore Girls fans, with lots of twinkly lights and a mayor’s words and Santa arriving by fire truck with...
by Leah Perrault | May 7, 2020
Space is not a word I associated with love for most of my life. I grew up longing for the freedom of stretching further away from the intimacy of my family and small, Saskatchewan town. I sat in the farm house window sill in my bedroom, staring up at the expansive,...
by Leah Perrault | Sep 26, 2019
Photo Credit: Darryl Millette For more than eight hundred days, the earth has been spinning its way around the sun, shining in spite of Abbie’s death, but I struggle to see it. The sun and moon come and go. I fight to feel anything other than the sting of injustice at...
by Leah Perrault | Jun 7, 2017
My sister had an old dead tree tattooed on her arm. She always meant to have dark clouds filled in behind it, but she didn’t get the chance. I asked her why a dead tree and not a living one; she said it was because she had seen the dark and the dead and gotten through...
by Leah Perrault | Dec 7, 2016
Photo Credit: Katherine Seibert I wandered out into the darkness the other night, wrapped in a thick fog. I could see about three car lengths in front of me on the asphalt, and then a wall of white, reflecting my headlights back at me. The brightness designed to...
