The Merry Dancers   Misery is Canada. Loneliness is a road in northern Ontario, a road disappearing into black spruce forever to the east, into the glow of a failing sunset to the west, not a single car to flag down, not a truck pulling logs the size of ships, not a thought of such a truck slowing, stopping, no luck to be had, no driver to say, "Whatever you do, don’t get stuck in Wawa, eh." Madness is blackflies, relentless, meat-driven, stippling a white shirt fire-itch red. Plague is darkness made thick with mosquitos, clouds of mosquitos, ear-seeking, infinite — but — less infinite than the stars, or how the sky’s an ocean, breathing tides of light.     © Michael Fleming Putney, Vermont July 2010