Rosemary Leach

“Does this sock belong to you?” I ask my daughter. I don’t ask why it is lying lonely on the railing or where its’ mate is. Personally, I...

In squished spaces people have to co-operate a bit more. Furrow browed conversations at the café tables are interrupted by someone trying...

This past Saturday I was standing beside a gurney. Across from us stood a tall woman, Arabic ancestry. She wore a baseball shirt with...

In the middle of the night, in the middle of winter, in the middle of the continent, I take my pen and wonder on paper if it is...

This Hour is Mine, 40 x 60 “Well, I quit my job,” my friend Victoria tells me as we stepped single file across a crusty snow covered...

Wrench, 24 x 12 When my kids were tiny, we lived in a small village. After growing up in Toronto and feeling utterly untethered, Clayton...

Contrapposto II, 16 x 20 In my thirties, when I was going through a difficult time, I took my first yoga class. The class was at a...

Acceptance, 14 x 14 I have a friend Chloe. Chloe doesn’t take up a lot of space in the world. She has curly reddish hair, light blue...

“Hanns is dying,” said my friend Cath. “What kind of dying?” I asked. “Dying, dying.” She responded. My defensive response followed years...

It shocks me that I was once a figure skater. I laugh to think I even won some medals. The 1970s figure skating world featured a musical...