Rainbow Valley Collection, Grey Christmas

There is a lookout that I love to frequent, high on the east hill above the valley below. My valley. Rainbow Valley.
It wasn't called that on any maps or in any of those shiny new tourism guides, but Rainbow Valley has always been my private name for it, symbolic of all the colourful folks that share my village, my life.
My name is John Harrison and I'm councillor for Ward 6 here in the eastern township of Mallory and the village of Gyfford. Locals called it The Gyff for as long as I can remember. Spent my entire life between these two hills, except for those years away at university. Couldn't wait to get out of the noise and the traffic in the city and come home.
Here, birdsong welcomes my day and its tractors that travel the roads. When I look out my bedroom window I can see the old maple tree I climbed as a kid. After my folks passed, I inherited the family home, an old white farmhouse on the Seventh Line, and I've never wanted for anything more.
After my good friend Mary died, I thought it'd be a good idea to write about her one day. Mark her time here on earth with a story. And from there, I kept writing - soon I had enough stories for a book and so I thought, 'Why not?' Publish the damned thing. Name it Rainbow Valley to honour my private thoughts about the place. Never told anyone that name before, well except Sarah. And should have never done that either. She laughed. Said it was a bit silly. Silly or not, it fits.
These are the stories of my life, of the people I've loved and served. These stories express my personal viewpoint and any errors or omissions are my own. Hope you enjoy reading them as much as I've enjoyed putting them down on paper.
Welcome, to my Rainbow Valley.