ABSTRACT
Late May, foothills of the Rocky Mountains, and the banks of the Elbow River are starting to shift again under the weight of water and the billow of spring runoff. Funny how the banks and shores and waters and airs have, once again, in this mysterious perennial arc, attended each other so perfectly. Not one stone, however meticulously small, is anywhere at all except exactly where it should be, perfectly co-arising in a big, goofy Alberta Sunblue Grin of interdependence.
