No silence like beauty in the alpine
Snowshoe edges slap in four four time
Below these banks, streams push boundaries
A pale sky promises more light tomorrow
This day is explored with slowed heartbeat
I surrender to forest tranquility
And you appear, Wisakedjak
Smoky gray ghost gliding on soft wings
To sing to me your whisper song
Lull me with your sweet corvid lullaby
Steal morning’s rations from my mitten grip🪶
rainy days
arbutus trunk reflections
forest choirs
calamity in the forest
when the owls alight in the high
shade of cedars to look
they are so unpopular with locals
who protest in every key relentlessly
maybe it’s the air of owl superiority
or the sleepy lidded glances of disdain
maybe it’s imagined owl oblivion—
new roses nod keeping graceful time
with soft summer wind
heads lowered in grave solidarity
there is a grand noise in the forest today
I can hear bird rage breaking through
even the cacophony of my thoughts
maybe i ought feel some gratitude
for the distraction🪶
We are behind our masks
but recognize humanity next to us
Eyes tell stories, sagas and series in shades
darkness makes reading more difficult
She asks me which number
I’m waiting for so I awaken to focus
We are travellers here and back
drawn to stand together in this littered space
I read the graffiti yesterday
or the day before but tonight I read it again
Which number are you waiting for
the woman asks as if I know
I listen to her story as stories needs telling
maybe it’s worse or better
I listen for hints of breakdown or sorrow
but she is factual despite
Tomorrow she will ride again she says
ride every day for eternity and her grandson
We are the riders of the bus
grateful for mundane recurring schedules
We are the quiet constant vigil keepers
careful not to wish for a break in the pattern
Begin with a thought even if it’s a lie or emerged from a morning dream
Think not of anything but the scratch of lead against paper
Are you one of those whose fingers do not know the feel of a pencil
or the echo in an empty room free of all inspired distraction
Go ahead or run behind but hover always in the moment
for it takes just half a breath before it’s already too late
What have you done with all those memories
abandoned behind a bedroom door when you made your last move
Turn down your light or you’ll alarm the wild life
You’ll need them if you ever want to get out of here.
Sit on that bench awhile
Look up at that sky
Listen to the birds call
Imagine what they talk about
Early one morning when you’re feeling glad
Grateful just to be still around
Lace up your boots and start walking
Up around the corner
Climb some hill
Take that stick waiting
There among the ferns
Grip it like a sheep herder
Like some old woman or man
Yes, keep on moving
But pause for breath too
There is time enough for everything
If you value the precious in you
One lonesome dove cry
Late afternoon clouds drifting
Silence between breaths
Go to the beach. Go to the part where nobody lingers. The heron is watching. Seagulls survey. There’s the smell of saltwater. Seaweed tangled among stones. Fragments of shells. Half crabs. Splinters of sunwashed bone. Hear the song of the waves drifting out drifting in. Redwinged Blackbird calls from undercover of wild roses.
Driftwood messengers
Heartbeat rhythm on the wind
Shifts of time
I could have left a note
but it’s windy over there near the bay
You’ll be back before the melting
they remind us every day anyway
I listen to Neve and The Deer Children
sing songs in a language I do not understand
Which path did you choose at the crossroad
I wonder over morning coffee
Where is her other hand you’ll probably ask
when you arrive and find my sign
Why are there no footprints
either coming or going
Winter earth
Hints of Spring
Ice sings a ripple song
Pencil Notes 