Underground Rage

The man-train rattled and shrieked through the dark tunnel taking the dayshift crew into the mine. Frank Kerlak slouched on the wooden bench deep in thought, back-to-back with the other miners. They all sat in yellow slickers with their hard hats and high rubber boots, raised steel toes encrusted with mud from previous shifts....

In spite of the light rain and mist, he slowed his pace to observe more closely the broad spreading oak, elm, and cedar over the boulevard with their tall dark wet trunks covered in moss and vines.

A Long Paddle into the Wind. Not a place for beginners. He was thinking, I hope this doesn’t turn out to be one of those Reader’s Digest disaster stories where people read how I survived the Coppermine. If I survive.

The History of Computers as I know it. That was a surprise.  The seventy year-old coaching two thirty-somethings on Internet marketing. I thought they knew this stuff.

On a country road under the wide blue Saskatchewan sky you can see the horizon stretching in all directions. But for ten-year-old Danny walking down the dusty road, he could only see into the mature wheat and barley fields on either side.  Straight ahead the flat road disappeared into the next corner.

The man-train rattled and shrieked through the underground darkness taking the dayshift crew into the mine. Frank slouched deep in thought on the hard bench, back to back with the other miners.