On the hill across the street from the school is an old traditional cemetery with big grassy burial mounds, and ancestral stone carvings. It's the kind of place that gives off the appearance of being especially sacred and peaceful, especially as the late afternoon light lays on it through the trees, as it was today.
I was walking back from the grocery store and stopped at the lights where you can see the hill in profile. On the highest part, standing between two mounds, was an old man with a golf club. Of course I mistook it at first for a simple walking stick, as perhaps this gentleman needed support in his trip to pay respect to those past.
He was practicing his swing.
A Canadian writer teaches English and finds out what it's like to be a foreigner.