Click below to listen to the narration:
when the long wind roared through the maples’ bones...and the cottage roads dimmed to black...the neighbours walked with lanterns raised...checking doors along the track...for when the grid goes dark in the countryside...it is people who bring the light back...by the lardeau’s edge where the cedars lean...the thaw ran fast and wild...and farmers...loggers...students...crews stood shoulder set and mild...they stacked their sandbags like a wall...to guard each home and child...at browning lake the mountains hushed...as searchers gathered round...they combed the water’s quiet skin...where two were lost...not found...and townsfolk came with food and hands...a soft...communal sound...in almonte’s square the banners flew...for a centenarian’s stride...a hundred years and two he bore...with memory as his guide...the battle of the atlantic stirred...in every tear brimmed eye...across the towns and cities wide...young voices rose to claim...the trades that build the nation’s frame...without glamour...without fame...they spoke of futures shaped by skill...and pride without a name...on saskatchewan’s plains the smoke ran low...and the firelines glowed red...evacuees moved swift and sure...with pets and hopes ahead...but neighbours stayed to help them pack...a thread of courage spread...in halls where flags and families met...new citizens took their stand...some crossed from south...some far abroad...to join this northern land...and voices old and languages new...wove futures hand in hand...in montreal the chorus rose...as victory crowned the night...a céline tune carried through the streets...a city’s shared delight...and stones could hum that joyful chord...where sorrow once held tight...