Went for a walk the other day discovering this and that along the way glimpses into Chemainus town this sacred precinct, unceded ground.
Met the man, wears a leather hat shares cheerful bytes. Eclectic chat. A joke, a tale, a fervent proclamation ‘bout living in the heart of this greatest nation.
Peered into dug foundations in Waterwheel Park where gleaming inspirations will support a brand new arch is this a pathway to reconciliation— footings to rebuild a truly greater nation.
Next came a woman and her Afghan hound dog loping grandly, eastward bound, I remembered the ghost of a lost best friend whose graceful gallop met a sudden end.
Poked around in a book box, wanting a read, when a voice from behind jokingly agreed not every concoction of facts into fiction lays claim the title of best-selling diction.
Then a youthful voice haled from a yard, a teen holding up an old rusted shard, thinking a geezer from ancient times, might house recollections it vaguely mimed.
Scanned from on high our inland sea, its surface calmed, not a notion of breeze, ships aglitter in a bright setting sun, pointing to oceans from whence they had come.
Returned to my doorstep the other day. Just where I’d been? I couldn't say because every step we take is taken into a world that’s newly awakened.
I took this photo from our upstairs bedroom window. The single line of footsteps evoked questions for me about who might have made them. It occurred to me that even if I knew that person’s name and destination most of my questions would remain unanswered!
The bird of paradise does not live in lush green tropic forests, doesn't stroke with flashing wings a Caribbean sky.
But she might.
This species does not trill her heartfelt, joyous anthems from a leafy, palm-treed hillside under a dazzling, foreign sun.
But she could.
This mystic creature you will find in the shimmering, shushing fabric in the irridescent patterns, in the brilliant woven mists of an imaginative mind...
Celebrate your dreams come true, and the other selves that become you, and the future self that must evolve, because all is said, but all’s not solved.
Today bleeds into our longest night, much to the murdering crows’ delight. specks of darkness on swishing wings they announce the fact with their squabblings. Emmisaries in jet black cowls, companions to the hooting owls. “Beware,” they gabble. “Take Fright! Take Fright! Your time approaches, Take Flight! Take Flight!”
Oh! How I love this gathering flock that portends what I am, and what I am not Like puzzle pieces scrabbling thin air, they congregate in raucus pairs, stark ormanemts in naked trees that jangle wonted harmonies. “Beware,” they gabble. “Take Fright! Take Fright! Your time approaches, Take Flight! Take Flight!”
T’is the season of madness and awful deeds, of blathering speeches and insane creeds. Of fascist swarmings in angry minds, fanatical theories, and brutal designs, of demons belching half-baked ‘facts’ and believers poised for bloody acts. “Beware,” they gabble. “Take Fright! Take Fright! Your time approaches, Take Flight! Take Flight!”
I am grateful for this ominous breed flocked in the branches of my blasted tree… Crows, the harbingers a future tense that lacks all kindness, all humane sense. They are puzzled pieces of a darkening despair, black fabric rustling in our benighted air. “Beware, they gabble, “Take Fright! Take Fright! The time is come for your longest night!”
Photo and poem were composed after I spent half an hour reviving a dying wasp I found on one of the slats of our livingroom blinds. It is a living room, after all!
It’s the dawn Of a new day In an old era In the same old way.
It’s the cycle renewed Again and again without end A ceaseless iteration Of nation against nation Of despair strangling hope Shoots of hatred Tendrils of fear A choking underbrush Infesting our gardens of Eden
Who was it said We must kill, and kill, and kill Until all are dead Who would become invasive species? Whose god roared that battle cry Under the glaring sun Denying even the possibility of innocence Declaring even the unborn ‘Enemies of our state’ Infected with murderous intent? Vermin only fit to hate?
Bloodlines. Worm like veins Through our sacred soils Rooting the detritus That defines us. Ancient scrolls And chiseled texts Implacable as tombstones.
Lead on! Lead on! my old, best friend, beyond the very end of this leash we both are tethered to.
Lead on! Lead on! Even though we do not know, and dare not say, exactly where we’re going… Even though there is no point within the compass of our ancient souls to suggest one way or another— no brilliant star, no station of the sun for us to fix upon. Whichever way we face, that becomes the direction of our knowing.
And yet you pant, and strain, and snuffle, and sniff, as if there were some secret (just around the bend or crouching under some bush) that makes sense of it all.
Lead on! Lead on! Beyond the very edge of this—our flattened earth— and be assured, for what it’s worth, that I must surely follow, and you are not alone.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep — while I weep! O God! Can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
