by Leah Perrault | Jan 12, 2023
Photo Credit: Julie Graham There’s a strange tenderness in harsh prairie winters. In the midst of deep fog, the temperature swings slowly, visibility declines, ice and frost coat the roads and the windows, and the hoar frost wraps the power lines and the trees. We can...
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 | Apr 30, 2019
Joy is an Easter feeling and a virtue in my faith tradition. For reasons fairly obvious to me, it is not the leading line in any description anyone would ever write about me. After all the fasting and sacrifice of Lent, I am worn out before the fifty days of Easter...
by Leah Perrault | Feb 7, 2018
I love giving birth. It’s a strange thing to love, given the pain it brings. I, however, am a recovering perfectionist, a doer of all things, and a prayer easily distracted. Birth takes me over, and I go, willing and resisting, barefoot, into the heart of it....
by Leah Perrault | Jul 25, 2017
Wounds are strange teachers. Ten days ago, I sliced through the tip of my left ring finger trying to pry leftover ice cream cake off the cardboard. (Don’t worry; I assured my inquiring brother-in-law that the cake was unharmed.) The sting was worse than the blood. And...
