Click below to listen to the narration:
across the wide dominion where long debates unwind...budgets tighten...voices rise...and futures press the mind...from housing lines to wildfire signs...we search for balance still...a country held together by its people’s steady will...a wall rises slowly where the old fields bend...each stone a lesson the elders meant to send...a century leans in the tilt of grey...a memory in the seam...the land keeps every signature like a long...unbroken dream...along burned black ridges where the caribou once passed...new hands set seedlings in the ash of summers vast...each spruce a whispered promise in the quiet scarred terrain...so the land may rise in green and call the herds again...when wildfire smoke had lifted and the city breathed again...a dancer from matanzas stepped into the northern rain...her rhythm stitched the continents through long light summer air...a heartbeat found in yellowknife...alive and everywhere...where the wheat line shivers under hail’s hard fists...farmers walk the rows like prophets reading lists...a pipe lifts prayers on foothills where the long winds run...the plains teach standing steady in the wide and burning sun...along the fundy headlands where cold snaps bite the bloom...farmers count the blossoms lost too soon...yet rinks and halls rise shining where fog and daylight blend...atlantic hearts know how to break...and mend...and bend...where tides once braided kelp through forests under sea...divers trace the ghost lines of what coastal life could be...storm worn inlets whisper where the cedar shadows lean...the coast keeps every memory in the balance of the green...where kluane winds lift colours through the mountain air...a village walks together in a long bright line of care...on baffin’s frozen shoreline...turbot gleams in morning light...sea and sky in union...holding stories tight...where the haul road climbs the ridges and winter cuts the ore...miners trace routines across a land that asks for more...mary river breathes another brittle northern year...and the iron hills remember every boot that wandered here...