landfill

It’s a bright and stormy night. All June nights in Pangnirtung’s famous fiord are bright, but on this particular evening in Nunavut, the winds of Auyuittuq come screaming across Baffin Island and down Akshayuk Pass. Wise souls hold on tight. Our house shakes like an aircraft descending through turbulence, even though the abode, like most in Pang, is cabled to the ground. Our dog cowers, our drywall cracks, windows shift and the front door vibrates as if it’s a gigantic saxophone reed, blasting foghorn warnings. ...