Breaking Morning #2

I’d risen from my empty bed an hour before dawn and crept outside to quiet my pain, in a manner of my choosing, in the place where we’d once been happy. The Internet had been no help, except for the few dark moments of hilarity when I’d perused the selection of options from a Wiki list of how to do myself in: wrist cutting (too messy), suffocation (unseemly, prolonged), electrocution (too abrupt), jumping from height (acrophobic), carbon monoxide (too polluting), hanging (no to bulging eyes/purple tongue), poison or pesticide (banned), immolation (too painful), or volcano (who’d know). Drowning would do, though.

Although I’d never been good at holding-breath games, I loved being underwater. They’d search and eventually find me anchored and the old rowboat adrift, oars neatly stowed, one signature red silk rose tied to the cleat on the bow, trailing white ribbons torn from the bridal gown I’d worn with such anticipation so many years before. For months I’d been daydreaming a gentle closure, of my eyes drifting shut in the soupy green ribbons of light that quivered on the bed of the lake, of my body floating undamaged and peaceful, so tastefully gone without fuss, just as I lived my life.

Yesterday, when everyone had traipsed to the park for a picnic, I measured out a length of stout line one meter short of the depth at the middle of the lake. I knew the distance I’d need. We’d been diving from the warped floating dock for decades, chasing water-logged teddy bears and deflated beach balls to the bottom and bobbing back to the surface, sputtering and shrieking with joy. I’d misplaced my joy long before the rusty moorings had snapped in a forgotten ice-jam, releasing the splintered arms of ancient wood to wash ashore. No one had bothered to replace either.

Attached to one end of the rope is a cement block I’d heaved onto a stack of burlap in the bottom of the boat one night and hidden under a mildewed tarp. I’d stacked the life jackets on the stern and greased the oarlocks, too, to thwart the nosey-parker early-risers down the lake. I had no need of lifesaving. No point in anyone wondering if I could have been rescued, either. Certainly not now, by foam and nylon. A long while ago, perhaps, it might have been possible, but too much time and so many acts of omission and commission had mortared any chance of restoration. Enough. I double-tack my note – a manifesto, actually, written and re-written on pale pink stationery then sealed in a zip-top bag – to the flag pole just steps from the shoreline.

A marshmallow crème haze coats the far banks of the lake, shredding into untidy veils beyond the shallows over the mouths of feeding fish. To my left, round bales of fog tumble down the gravel wash and unravel into pale light over cairns of stones roughed up by ancient glaciers. Mist swirling from the edge of the island coats my legs like tulle as I shuffle in a tight circle like a cautious dancer, taking one last look around. Will I miss this? Will I be missed? Water spiders skitter under the drifting shadow of a gray phoebe. No loons cry out. Is it because I’ve done enough?

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Why Mystery?

by Hyacinthe Miller • 14 July 2026

Ordinary people = engaging suspense

Gooooooaaaaaallll!

by Hyacinthe Miller • 2 July 2026

When people think about international sporting events, they often picture the action inside stadiums jammed with tens of thousands of screaming fans. Yet, some of the most memorable moments happen far beyond the first and last whistles. What I’ve seen in Mexico during a FIFA match, is entire towns transformed by watch parties in homes or bars, convoys of vehicles honking horns and waving flags from windows, and everyone out celebrating. We’re all wearing green shirts in honour of our Mexican football team and it’s amazing. It’s been a time when strangers become neighbours for a few unforgettable weeks. Walking through the streets at any time of day, you can feel the energy. Hawkers are selling Mexican themed team shirts of all kinds. Families bring their lawn chairs to the malacon to watch the match on a big screen television set up by the skateboard park. Before and afterwards, folks gather in the central square. A few weeks ago, I was on a flight from Toronto to Mexico City connecting to Guadalajara. Fans from all over the world were wearing team jerseys. There was such a happy buzz of pride and laughter. The man I sat beside was born in Mexico but hadn’t been back in forty-one years (he’d had a complicated life). He had tickets to games in Mexico City (CDMX) and Guadalajara. When we arrived in Guadalajara airport, there were two lines of people dressed in team colours greeting everyone heading out of the terminal. Music, chanting, dancing—I’d never seen anything like it. Last night on my way home from watching the game with a group of friends, there were no cars on the streets. It was eerily quiet. Even the dogs were silent. Yet, form every house I passed by on the way home, I could hear the game and cheers behind the curtains. When Mexico ended the game with a 2-0 win, then the celebrations spilled into the streets. Lots of cohetes being set off, cheering, and horns honking long after the match had ended. Everywhere you look, people are wearing team jerseys, interesting headgear or draping themselves in the flag. The sense of excitement is contagious. What makes the celebration especially memorable is the friendliness of the Mexican people. We saw lots of that hospitality offered in Tijuana to the Iranian team, whose exclusion form the US meant they had to fly out of Mexico for every match, and return afterwards. The Korean team will remember Mexican hospitality for a long time. In fact, there are lots of memes circulating that in nine months, there will be dozens of Korean Mexican babies born with names like Fernando Kim, Yoon Sun Lopez, Andreas Lorenzo Lee, Lourdes Maria Park. Especially in these troubled times, events like soccer with teams from around the world, remind us that competition can unite people and give them a break from political shanigans.

Breaking Morning #2

The Lake Decision - 2

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