Partly because of lack of time – but also because, in this case, I think brevity is better – today’s blog comes from occasional Canadian correspondent Anna Smith, who lives in a boat on a river near Vancouver.
A man nearly drowned near my boat last Saturday afternoon.
It is not the first time this has happened.
But, this time, it was a bit unusual.
It was unusual because it was daytime and he was alone.
Usually it happens at night, at a dock party.
I happened to be reading a play in a book called Riders to the Sea.
For some reason, the bit that resonates with me is not the title of the play she was reading but the phrase: “Usually it happens at night”.