September at Finn Slough
An afternoon breeze courses the river. It brings scant relief from the late summer heat. Cords of wood, ready for winter, ready for sale, sit stacked at intervals. The corrugated-roof dwellings hunker down amidst the ramshackle, the fishing vessels, the sparkle and flow. Shadows everywhere are deepening.
Not often does one glimpse a resident, though evidence of their labour is all around. A sign warns: the rickety plank bridge that spans the slough is not maintained by the city, the neighbourhood not a tourist attraction. Below, through thickening reeds, a swan gracefully winds. As with the residents, she lives off the grid.
Finn Slough sleeps at dusk
a porch light blinks on
Dinner Plate Island School
“The porchlight coming on again” (Weldon Kees, “1926”)
Are you from Aran?