Anne came and  left  but I remember  the sweet  cider and the wood stove, the smell of her paints. She sings songs from Chicago, and brings to life the northern lights on the canvas, the wolves, the scenes. Her songs, the guitar she plays. She croons about damaged men and neglected love. Country and blues, telling me about the costume she has for her next bar song night, her singing partner will be a Patsy Cline look alike. Anne makes Saskatoon jam, tucks me in on the couch, and tells me stories.
We walk along the trails on the acridge, Anne tells me about plants we see, like the pea vine. She encourages me to climb the tallest trees. She hears me sing and sees promise, talent, a dream waiting to happen. She gets me into theater, one of the greatest gifts I've ever received.
She brings me flowers to my shows and I always find her in the big crowds.
I remember the painting, the beautiful field with billowing clouds lazily crossing the sky in the wind. It was in the apartment that she shared with her boyfriend. He had an awful temper and it took more than it should have for Anne to finally leave him.
She stayed with us for a while, a few lovely months before leaving.
It was a few years after she disappeared before I found the demo CD of Anne singing her country and blues. Sometime I just sit and play it on repeat, its a treasure, a gateway to all those memories.
Memories of a proud and beautiful woman who helped shift my life in the direction of art and creation. A woman who was there when I was an infant and when I was a child.
I love Anne and the memories she left in her wake. Anne came and left but I remember everything.