From The Linden Tree
The earliest memory I have of my father is of him riding the bicycle he used for getting all around town, even to its farthest limits, carrying a very long ladder on his shoulder. I don’t think this scene would . . .
Brick, a literary journal
Brick
PO Box 609, Stn P
Toronto, ON M5S 2Y4
Canada
Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing to be so little reached as with criticism. Only love can grasp and hold and fairly judge them. — Rainer Maria Rilke