12
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      walked
      through
      the
      streets
      of
      my
      town,
      past
     
     
      children
      playing
      and
      men
      raking
      leaves
      and
     
     
      people
      laughing
      in
      homes,
      seeing
      all
      as
      Nor-
     
     
      man
      Rockwell’s
      final
      joke
      on
      all
      of
      us,
      images
     
     
      of
      simple
      perfection
      to
      throw
      the
      pain
      and
     
     
      confusion
      of
      life
      into
      sharp
      relief
      against
      their
     
     
      lily-white
      background
     
    

    
     
      My
      steps
      steady
      and
      measured,
      working
      in
      the
     
     
      mindless
      robotic
      fashion
      Nature
      provides
      us
     
     
      for
      when
      our
      minds
      are
      too
      full
      to
      properly
     
     
      monitor
      the
      process
     
    

    
     
      I
      had
      just
      finished
      yet
      another-long
      session
      of
     
     
      playing
      philosopher-therapist-saint
      for
      my
     
     
      lover,
      using
      as
      much
      love,
      logic,
      and
      savvy
      as
     
     
      I
      could
      to
      frighten
      away
      the
      depressive
      demons
     
     
      that
      dogged
      her
      and
      dragged
      at
      her
      heels
     
     
      Trying
      to
      bolster
      her
      soul
      and
      block
      the
      way
     
     
      down
      for
      it
      despite
      the
      many
      times
      it
      had
     
     
      proved
      both
      too
      heavy
      and
      too
      slippery
      for
      me
     
     
      and
      fallen
      past
     
    

    
     
      Leaving
      my
      mind
      laden
      and
      drained,
      numb
     
     
      and
      cold
      and
      hurting
      all
      at
      once,
      and
      bruised
     
     
      beyond
      belief
     
    

    
     
      My
      feet
      brought
      me
      toa
      park,
      and
      as
      I
      wandered
     
     
      through
      the
      green
      and
      the
      sun,
      I
      resolved
      to
     
     
      think
      about
      something
      else,
      and
      let
      the
      ab-
     
     
      sorbed
      poisons
      drain
      from
      my
      soul
      without
      my
     
     
      mind
      separating
      and
      distilling
      them
      as
      it
      did
     
     
      everything
      else
     
    

    
     
      I
      walked
      over
      the
      grass
      and
      noticed
      a
      small
     
     
      seed,
      encased
      in
      its
      delicate
      green
      casing,
      lying
     
     
      nestled
      in
      the
      grass
      with
      its
      nose
      in
      the
      loose
     
     
      earth,
      stem
      and
      wings
      and
      twin
      seeds
      combin-
     
     
      ing
      into
      a
      perfect
      package,
      graceful,
      simple,
     
     
      and
      pure
     
    

    
     
      I
      picked
      it
      up
      and
      ran
      a
      finger
      over
      the
      smooth
     
     
      surface,
      and
      marvelled
      over
      its
      elegance,
      the
     
     
      fine
      stalks
      just
      enough
      to
      support
      its
      beautiful
     
     
      wings,
      so
      thin
      yet
      surprisingly
      strong
     
    

    
     
      I
      held
      it
      between
      two
      fingers,
      and
      let
      it
      drop,
     
     
      watching
      as
      it
      fell
      twirling
      to
      the
      grass
      and
     
     
      landed
      by
      some
      of
      its
      counterparts
     
    

    
     
      I
      picked
      it
      up
      again,
      and
      raised
      my
      hand
      a
      little
     
     
      higher,
      and
      gave
      a
      little
      toss,
      sending
      it
      further
     
     
      and
      higher
      before
      its
      inevitable
      plummet
     
     
      Again
      I
      picked
      it
      up
      and
      again
      I
      sent
      it
      on
      its
     
     
      journey,
      and
      again
      and
      again,
      though
      my
     
     
      hands
      soon
      were
      quite
      dirty
      from
      picking
      it
      up
     
     
      so
      many
      times,
      and
      my
      knees
      ached
      from
      the
     
     
      stooping
     
    

    
     
      Each
      flight
      brought
      the
      seed
      a
      little
      higher,
      a
     
     
      little
      further,
      and
      this
      spurred
      me
      on
     
    

    
     
      Atfirst
      Itold
      ee
      it
      wasa
      os
      a
      vas
      ad
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      ak
      ha
     
    
   
   
    
     
      FALL
     
     
      (Not
      Hanglider
      But
      Parachute)
     
    
   
   
    
     
      from
      my
      troubles,
      but
      soon
      that
      was
      forgotten
     
     
      and
      I
      was
      concentrating
      on
      nothing
      but
      my
      task
     
     
      So
      I
      followed
      the
      seed
      through
      the
      park,
      not
     
     
      noticing
      the
      rest
      of
      the
      park
      around
      me
      and
     
     
      once
      or
      twice
      jostling
      a
      bemused
      or
      bewildered
     
     
      fellow
      park-goer
      in
      my
      single-minded
      pursuit
     
     
      Till
      eventually
      I
      noticed
      I
      was
      making
      less
      and
     
     
      less
      progress
      cach
      time,
      till
      it
      seemed
      all
      I
      could
     
     
      dowas
      maintain
      the
      levels
      I
      had
      so
      far
      achieved,
     
     
      and
      the
      fatigue
      and
      soreness
      were
      making
      even
     
     
      that
      difficult
     
    

    
     
      Then,
      as
      I
      bent
      down
      to
      pick
      the
      seed
      up
      yet
     
     
      again,
      in
      one
      of
      those
      crystal
      clear
      turning
     
     
      cusps
      of
      life,
      when
      it
      seems
      like
      the
      roaring
     
     
      cacophony
      of
      your
      thoughts
      have
      suddenly
     
     
      coalesced
      into
      a
      single
      simple
      note,
      it
      came
      to
     
     
      me
      I
      was
      going
      against
      Nature
     
    

    
     
      The
      wings
      were
      not
      designed
      to
      let
      it
      fly,
      but
      to
     
     
      allow
      it
      to
      plummet
      softly
     
    

    
     
      It
      belonged
      on
      the
      ground,
      where
      it
      could
      take
     
     
      root
      and
      grow,
      and
      achieve
      its
      height
      that
     
     
      way
      All
      my
      ‘improvements’
      had
      been
      interfer-
     
     
      ing
      with
      an
      age-old
      process
     
    

    
     
      The
      seed
      did
      not
      wish
      to
      fly
     
    

    
     
      Slowly
      I
      stood
      up,
      and
      looked
      at
      the
      seed,
     
     
      noticing
      how
      its
      wings
      swept
      downward
      and
     
     
      inward
      to
      send
      it
      spinning
      in
      a
      dizzying
      fall
      to
     
     
      the
      earth,
      where
      it
      and
      its
      brethren
      would
     
     
      perish
      likely,
      or
      perhaps
      survive
      and
      grow
      into
     
     
      a
      mighty
      tree
     
    

    
     
      I
      looked
      up
      into
      the
      trees,
      at
      the
      arms
      out-
     
     
      stretched
      to
      collect
      the
      sun
      and
      be
      caressed
      by
     
     
      the
      breezes,
      at
      the
      strong
      bodies
      to
      support
      the
     
     
      arms,
      and
      down
      at
      the
      thick
      penetrating
      roots
     
     
      that
      probably
      ran
      into
      layer
      of
      rock
      formed
      eons
     
     
      ago,
      and
      at
      the
      teeming
      life
      which
      lived
      in
      oron
     
     
      or
      even
      fed
      upon
      them
     
    

    
     
      It
      seemed
      a
      rather
      noble
      goal,
      to
      want
      to
      join
     
     
      such
      august
      company,
      and
      worth
      the
      risk
     
     
      Wryly
      I
      thought
      that
      if
      such
      a
      seed
      was
      to
     
     
      sprout,
      those
      who
      run
      the
      park
      would
      soon
     
     
      uproot
      it
      or
      kill
      it
      with
      poison,
      or
      simply
      cut
      it
     
     
      down
     
    

    
     
      The
      noble
      trees
      at
      which
      I
      gazed
      were
      the
      last
     
     
      generation
      for
      the
      park,
      and
      a
      new
      tree
      would
     
     
      prosper
      only
      if
      an
      older
      one
      had
      died
     
    

    
     
      And
      even
      then,
      it
      would
      probably
      not
      be
      from
     
     
      this
      park,
      but
      from
      +some
      aseptic
      nursery
     
     
      somewhere,
      where
      they
      grew
      saplings
      for
      just
     
     
      such
      a
      purpose,
      to
      be
      healthy
      and
      strong
      and
     
     
      perfect
      for
      the
      purpose
      of
      taking
      over
      the
      older
     
     
      one’s
      spot,
      drinking
      the
      sun
      the
      old
      one
      had
     
     
      denims
      en
      its
      roots
      aman
      the
      soil
      made
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Ie
      AA
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      ep
      away,
      enh
      pn)
     
    
   
   
    
     
      x
     
    
   
   
    
     
      loose
      by
      the
      old
      one’s
      departure,
      perhaps
      even
     
     
      growing
      from
      and
      feeding
      off
      the
      still-bleed-
     
     
      ing
      stump
      of
      its
      predecessor,
      and
      growing
      tall
     
     
      to
      get
      its
      own
      flock
      of
      creatures
      living
      in
      or
      on
     
     
      or
      off
      of
      its
      body
      and
      blood
     
    

    
     
      But
      still,
      the
      mighty
      trees
      grew
      their
      seeds
      and
     
     
      sent
      them
      on
      their
      ultimately
      futile
      procreative
     
     
      journey
     
    

    
     
      (I
      wondered
      briefly
      if
      the
      trees
      knew
      they
      had
     
     
      been
      rendered
      effectively
      sterile)
     
    

    
     
      And
      the
      seeds
      fell
      unknowing
      too,
      till
      silly
     
     
      people
      like
      myself
      picked
      them
      up
      and
      tried
      to
     
     
      make
      them
      fly
      away
      from
      where
      they
      longed
      to
     
     
      be
     
    

    
     
      Even
      if
      I
      judged
      their
      journey
      futile,
      they
     
     
      should
      at
      least
      be
      allowed
      that,
      for
      what
      else
     
     
      could
      they
      do?
      It
      was
      how
      they
      were
      designed
     
     
      Perhaps
      my
      seed
      had
      enjoyed
      its
      flights,
      for
      it
     
     
      had
      gotten
      to
      plummet
      again
      and
      that
      is
      some-
     
     
      thing
      it
      was
      meant
      to
      do
      as
      surely
      as
      it
      was
     
     
      meant
      to
      take
      root
      and
      try
      to
      grow
     
    

    
     
      But
      still
      knew]
      was
      taking
      it
      away
      from
      where
     
     
      it
      was
      supposed
      to
      be,
      and
      that
      no
      matter
      how
     
     
      dirty
      I
      got
      my
      hands
      or
      how
      long
      I
      laboured,
      it
     
     
      would
      never
      fly,
      only
      fall
      further
      and
      harder
     
     
      I
      looked
      around
      me,
      with
      fresh
      eyes,
      at
      the
     
     
      beautiful
      world
      which
      surrounded
      me
      and
      the
     
     
      people
      passing
      by
      who
      had
      not
      existed
      to
      me
     
     
      while
      I
      was
      pursuing
      the
      seed
      on
      my
      fool’s
     
     
      errand
     
    

    
     
      I
      rubbed
      my
      knees
      and
      felt
      how
      relieved
      they
     
     
      were
      to
      not
      be
      stooping
      any
      more,
      though
      I
     
     
      imagined
      it
      would
      be
      a
      few
      days
      before
      they
     
     
      would
      feel
      like
      they
      did
      before
     
    

    
     
      I
      looked
      at
      my
      filthy
      hands,
      covered
      in
      soil,
      sap,
     
     
      and
      dew,
      and
      thought
      about
      how
      nice
      it
      would
     
     
      be
      to
      get
      them
      clean
      and
      fresh
      again
     
    

    
     
      I
      looked
      down
      at
      the
      seed,
      and
      once
      more
      I
     
     
      admired
      its
      elegance
      and
      design,
      but
      with
      the
     
     
      knowledge
      of
      just
      what
      it
      was
      designed
      for
      and
     
     
      howlittle
      that
      had
      to
      do
      with
      me
      except
      by
      well-
     
     
      meaning
      blunder
     
    

    
     
      I
      pressed
      it
      to
      my
      lips
      gently,
      giving
      it
      the
     
     
      softest
      of
      kisses,
      and
      raised
      my
      arm
      high
      over
     
     
      my
      head,
      letting
      it
      fall
      behind
      me
     
    

    
     
      I
      didn’t
      look
      back
      to
      see
      where
      it
      had
      fallen,
      for
     
     
      I
      knew
      that
      I’d
      just
      want
      to
      pick
      it
      up
      again
      and
     
     
      try
      again,
      and
      my
      hands
      were
      too
      dirty
      and
      my
     
     
      knees
      too
      sore
      for
      that
     
    

    
     
      Instead
      I
      resumed
      my
      walk,
      but
      headed
      for
     
     
      home,
      wondering
      if
      my
      lover
      would
      still
      be
     
     
      thereFor
      now
      I
      knew
      exactly
      what
      I
      had
      to
      do.
     
     
      --Michael
      Berrand
     
    
   
   
    
     
      national
      radio.
      The
      play
      was
      also
      nominat
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Melissa
      Mullen
      i
     
     
      a
      starring
      role
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Theatre
      Prince
      Edward
      Island
      a
     
     
      nounces
      the
      forthcoming
      presentation
      of
     
     
      Occupation
      of
      Heather
      Rose
      by
      Wendy
      Li
     
     
      The
      play,
      which
      stars
      Melissa
      Mullen,
      is
      c
     
     
      rently
      touring
      the
      Maritimes.
      It
      will
      be
      i
     
     
      Charlottetown
      on
      Saturday,
      September
      24
      at
     
     
      p.m.
      in
      the
      Duffy
      Amphitheatre
      at
      UPEI.
     
    

    
     
      The
      play,
      being
      co-sponsored
      by
      t
     
     
      University
      Theatre
      Society,
      is
      the
      debut
      pr
     
     
      duction
      of
      the
      Eastern
      Front
      Theatre
     
     
      based
      in
      Dartmouth,
      Nova
      Scotia.
      It
      is
      direct
     
     
      by
      the
      company’s
      Artistic
      Director
      Ma
     
     
      Vingoe.
      Itsstar,
      Melissa
      Mullen,
      is
      best
      know
     
     
      to
      local
      audiences
      from
      her
      appearances
      i
     
     
      summer
      theatre
      in
      Georgetown
      and
      in
      produ
     
     
      tions
      at
      Theatre
      PEI,
      most
      notably
      for
      the
      tit
     
     
      character
      in
      Nichael
      Hemaeassy'
      s
      YOUN
     
     
      MAUD.
     
    

    
     
      The
      Occupation
      of.
      eal
      ise
      isa
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
     
          
     
     
       
     
     
        
     
    
   
   
    
     
      un
     
     
      ili
     
    
   
   
    
     
      engrossing
      one-woman
      play
      about
      a
      youn
     
     
      white
      nurse
      who
      works
      on
      a
      northern
      reserv
     
     
      An
      idealistic
      and
      self-adsorbed
      young
      woma!
     
     
      she
      collides
      with
      a
      way
      of
      life
      she
      neith
     
     
      understands
      nor
      appreciates.
      Slowly
      she
      rea
     
     
      izes
      she
      has
      no
      bearing
      on
      the
      lives
      of
      the
      nati
     
     
      people
      on
      the
      reserve,
      and
      that
      far
      from
      savin
     
     
      them,
      she
      is
      part
      of
      the
      system
      which
      has
      near!
     
     
      destroyed
      them.
      This
      realization
      forces
      her
      |
     
     
      rethink
      her
      own
      society,
      with
      its
      underlyir
     
     
      prejudices
      and
      hypocrisy.
      Heather’s
      ‘‘dat
     
     
      night
      of
      the
      soul’’
      is
      related
      with
      humour
      ar
     
     
      compassion
      without
      trivializing
      the
      tragedy
      ‘
     
     
      ruined
      lives.
     
    

    
     
      Theatre
      critic
      Elissa
      Barnard
      of
      t
     
     
      Halifax
      Chronicle-Herald
      described
      the
      p
     
     
      ductionas
      being
      ‘‘full
      of
      wit,
      vivid
      imagery
      a
     
     
      poignancy’’.
      Wrote
      David
      Swick
      in
      The
      Dai
     
     
      News
      (Dartmouth)
      "The
      Occupation
      of
      Heat
     
     
      Rose
      is
      an
      enjoyable
      evening
      of
      relevant
      th
     
     
      tre
      ...
      gutsy
      and
      believable
      ...
      the
      best
      show
     
     
      metro’.
     
    

    
     
      The
      Occupation
      Heather
      Rose
      has
     
     
      successful
      productions
      in
      Toronto,
      Winni
     
     
      Regina,
      Victoria,
      Vancouver
      and
      other
      ce
     
     
      tres.
      It
      was
      also
      adapted
      by
      the
      author
      for
      C
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
          
     
     
         
     
     
        
     
     
       
     
     
         
     
     
          
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      for
      a
      Governor-General’s
      Literary
      Award
     
     
      Drama.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Tickets
      for
      the
      September
      24th
      pr
     
     
      entation
      are
      available
      at
      the
      UP
     
     
      Bookstore
      and
      at
      the
      door.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      $
      6.00
     
     
      $
      8.00
     
     
      $10.00
     
    
   
   
    
     
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