When the pendulum does not swing, when the second hand does not sweep, when the hourglass loses no sand – there are no words for those fragments of time. But we know. We remember when time stood still. The sun will not set today, Nor will it rise, Above ancient Read more…
Dreaming trees aching to open in Spring, Grey whales, white dogs, race in the sky, Glinting streams sprout and run quick down the lane, Coyote pouncing, snout in the prairie, Golden orbs drifting, pulsing in ink, Squirrels drunk soaring from fences to trees, Rabbits a-plenty turn Winter to dun, I Read more…
Sun-dappled ocean, horizon soon wild, Lunacy push now then pull, Golden hued wheat field, rippling breath, Quivers in Earth’s embrace, Chasm of cascading, roiling flow, Forest of wonder, roots all a-tangle, Mysteries infinite, ever sublime, Could they be deeper than that? Deeper, much deeper than that. Mobius flora, creatures now Read more…
There are very few things more immediately terrifying than glancing into the ditch and seeing a skunk running along beside you, its little legs churning up the earth as if it made a bet with all the other skunks and simply would not be beaten by a human. Even now Read more…
“The Phone Booth at the Edge of the World” is an achingly beautiful novel, a study in grief and renewal penned by Laura Imai Messina. Her words allowed me to weep. They begged me to reread pages and paragraphs again and again. Her words made me long for things undone, Read more…
It is December 31st and Lois has not risen. It is late morning. It is the last day that she will taste the air in her own apartment, the last day that her near blind eyes will see light glinting on the hills, or pictures loved, the last day that Read more…
A thousand metaphors have sprung from the lips of those who know the joy of gliding through depths, splashing through waves, propelling themselves through that which infills us and that which surrounds us. I know that joy. I love to swim – now – but it was not always so. Read more…
They are all gone now, and perhaps it is a small mercy. For them to witness the current state of the world would be heartbreaking. My dad was in World War Two. My grandfathers were in World War One. My oldest brother was a commando and a peace keeper. But Read more…
The weight of her world is finally, achingly lifting one weary word at a time. Here, now, offered to me and to the ether are these ancient, cold roots dying to find warmth in the light. Every pebbled syllable is laden with pain, with years, even decades of secrecy, of Read more…
You’re dressed like a queen. Look at you! She grins. Of course I am! It is our last day. She knows. She is ready. Her queenly attire is a magnificent purple garment, replete with puffed sleeves. But like so many other things here, it is beauty that hides an underlying, Read more…
You are worth at least as much as a magnificent sunset, A daisy, a young child’s laugh. You are worth at least as much as A wave in the wild, crashing splendidly on the shore, A cascade of sand from a wee one’s castle. You are worth at least as Read more…
Duck tracks in snow, improbable things, Regal dyed shroud, Stars beckoning, Gentle soled footsteps, Nightingale smiles, Secrets unfolding… Snow soft on cedars, veins growing cold, Winter nights calling, Memories old, Chisel and granite, ice-fever dreams, Lifetimes undoing… Cardboard in concrete now, unfinished plans, Ice chips, apple juice, Straw, quaking hands, Read more…
Do you know where the picture is? The one from above the fireplace in the sunroom? I think that it’s probably in storage. You and your sister didn’t throw it out did you? You threw out most of my life when I moved into town. No, Mom. I’m pretty sure Read more…
Go! Her spirit is not here. We few walls could never contain such a marvellous thing. Taste the wide sky. Drink from the quick, beating heart of the still iron stream. Sing in the night with a chorus of trees. Dance. Allow Earth’s breath now wild from the west to Read more…
What are you doing today? Nothing. Really? Nothing? Yep. Nothing. Won’t you be bored? I don’t think so. Oh… So what are you going to do? Sit. Maybe read. Have coffee. Later on have tea. Maybe go for a walk. Maybe sit on a bench in Narnia. And listen to Read more…
Sunsets and sea stars, sailboats and sand, Wheat fields and corn rows, thick forest lands, Raindrops and snowflakes, thundering clouds, Silence and thanks being given out loud. Caterpillars, steam trains, comets in flight, Sea lions, antelope, bats in the night, Strength grown in weeping, steel forged in loss, Passions retreating… Read more…
With thanks to CS Lewis, I am in Narnia. It is my own private Narnia on the borderlands of the city. It is my frequent refuge, my quietude. It is the place where rolling hills begin to settle gently, becoming sprawling, impossibly vast plains, where coyotes, moose and many, many Read more…
I am healing. I tell myself this. I tell myself this again and again. These three words rattle, bouncing like marbles on cold tile in the half-lit hallways of my once cloudless mind. They scurry, they scatter, they disappear without reason for hours and for days, but I am healing. Read more…
We shouldn’t have moved. It is not true but it is her truth, the one that resides deep in these gravel-laden fissures of her soul. It is her way of making sense of my little brother’s death, of his choice to leave the way he did. She believed that letting Read more…
It was waiting for me. The Poetry of Walt Whitman. Oddly enough, I had been thinking of Whitman during my distracted ramble through the bookshop, and there on a shelf lay pages of poems, as if placed just for me. A few books (only three or four) far to the Read more…