Click below to listen to the narration:
in rideau’s hall the ink was drawn...a mayor’s hand...held sway...the council’s vote was cast aside...a wintered power play...and far in ottawa’s gilded dome...a minister stepped down...the echo of her final word still rings through parliament’s crown...a timber frame in northern snow...was marked for wrecking ball...but lanterns lit and voices rose...the past refused to fall...in portland’s frost the elders met to trace a child’s way home...a sidewalk drawn in careful lines where safety dares to roam...in penetang the curling stones were swept by cloaks and cheer...a village rink became a hearth...to warm the turning year...yet vandal hands in shadow crept...and taxes climbed the wall...the quilt of trust was stitched anew where cracks began to sprawl...from gimli’s shelf the bottle fled...its absence loud and clear...a merchant’s loss became a tale of jobs and local fear...in yellowknife the cloaks were drawn...the round table set wide...a northern star above them burned as provinces allied...and in the towns where rail once ran...the people made their stand...identity was not a flag but footprints in the land...ontario’s bins were filled with doubt...confusion in the snow...the rules had changed... the streets replied...with questions row on row...the wind blew hard through southern towns...the north froze deep and still...the climate spoke in icy tongues that bent the farmer’s will...a boy with lantern... hammer... and hope built homes for those in need...his modular dream took root in frost...a quiet... urgent deed...and curling brooms in younger hands swept futures down the sheet...the youth became the final spoke where all the stories meet...