Kelowna wasn’t an entirely hostile place. Kids swam in the lakes, then the hot sun dried them off. Yes–it was part desert but it was anything but deserted.

The heat made mountains cloaked in orchards sweat wine. As the sun went down, the mountains westward leant their shadows against hillsides to hold in embrace for comfort before a chilly night. Huge flocks of birds shimmered in the dying light like shoals of fish. And the fish a surface below got ready to feed, keeping empty speedboats moored company. The lake lapped at its side and groomed dead strands of waterweed out of its algae tresses.

We sat in birdsong, our fingers just touching.

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