Shadow

It began with going to the farmers’ market down by the water. The purple kohlrabi that had split while growing and bore the connective scars smoothly and evenly between its three, four, even five, sections. The dark earth that freckled the shiny tight onions I picked up simply because they were beautiful. A handful, no…another…

Few Words, Much Communication

I went over to the Public Gardens this morning for the specific experience of letting its peace hold me… It was the first time this summer season and it was like walking into the arms of a grounded and welcoming friend. There was bird-song and bird chittering in conversation with the low hum of humanity;…

Market Writing

From Saturday morning, March 19, 2022… It has been a long while since letting the warm bubble of Market sounds wash over me… and I had missed it.  I find myself tucked into a corner after over two years of not being able to sit within an atmosphere I find so comforting…the warm rumbly murmur…

House by the Sea

A House by the Sea Some days, I’m telling you, there’s a house that’s calling me— with iris and daffodils and a view to the sea. Some days I’m telling you, there’s a room that’s calling me— with books and a wingback and a hot cuppa tea. This and that plates and patterns, but clean,…

Under the Over

Under the Over As enamoured as I amof words, syllables, sound, and line,the cataract can swallowmy attention to say nothingof my interest and underthe over rushing currentsI wander in another world,walking on the silt soft floor,welcomed by lifeunnoticed above. I do not forget this freedomwhen called to surface.It is the smile tuckedin the curl of my…

Wash Over

Wash Over Sound wash over me; noteswash over me; hold mein your sway, your soothing, your‘breathe with me, be at ease here, at ease here…’Enfold me, light withinthe notes, the sound,bathing me, taking in my tears,giving them voice, a brilliant transparencyadding story to the stained glass anda hovering in the roof peak whisper of heartthat is…

Because it is Pleasing to my Soul (or Breaking out the Big Mixer)

When I was a child, I associated my father with the making of certain specific foods.  He would produce occasional batches of what we called “New Orleans square doughnuts” throughout the year and do the cranking on homemade ice cream in summer.  Above all, though, bread-making was a favourite.  Both parents made bread, and we…

Bone and Feeling

For the last little while, I have taken my breakfast by the sea, more often than not. I go around 6:30…thermos of coffee and simple meal–sometimes an oatcake wrapped in a cloth napkin; other times, a jar of ‘cold oats,’–one of my summertime favourites. I read, I write, I pray… I don’t need to stay…

Mutterings of a Mood

The Mood of the Sea Beside you at the new day’s rising, Isee the hologram of your surface,sometimes silver, sometimes grey.I hear the craggy momentum of history upon glacial shore;and the soft edges of a heron in morning contemplation;The crumb of my biscuit is salted by your ranting;my spirit is cleansed by your laughter’s salinity….

Into the Life of Things

From the journal… 8:07 AM On a bench in the Public Gardens, having a late breakfast of an oatcake and coffee.  Both are welcome, and so too the sun.  I love how the morning dew tips each blade of grass with a single prismatic orb…and how it feels like everything, every.thing, has turned its being…