Last night I dreamt my father and me set out from Fort Richmond, down Pembina Highway and Highway 75, one dark Friday early spring evening. The snow and dirt being washed away by driving rain, the wind whipping our faces, and our long coats flapping behind us as we rode our CMC coaster fixed gear bicycles.
Glenlea Mennonite Church Sunday morning, once upon a time.
When we were finally out of range of the city lights, I looked behind me to see how Dad was making out, and he was gone. I continued, finishing the journey to the old white clapboard church in Glenlea, which was deserted. No-one else had come to catechism class and choir practice. I sat in the pews, dreaming of how I might convert the place into an arts or literary presentation space. Fade to black.