I’m re-posting a photo that was taken at Durand Glacier, British Columbia, a number of years ago and I hope it will bring a smile to your face despite all the swirling uncertainty.
Perhaps we can use this time of social distancing and social isolation to regain an appreciation not just for each other, but for our beautiful earth as well.
I wish good health to all of you who read this post. Be kind to each other.
Remnants of winter wash down the storm sewer at the end of our street, a steady stream of grime, dead leaves and leftover dreams. The smell of Mother Earth shedding her winter weight, a moist decay, fills my nose. Bits of green poke through melting snow on lawns, through espresso black loam in flower beds where early morning conversations were tossed out the door along with coffee grounds.
I run away from my neighbor who says hello, a slight panic that we might be too close. Deep embedded Canadian courtesy has me stop and turn around, ten feet away. With eyes lowered I say “hi”. “My bad” is his quick response, this first time pandemic for most of us, hard to get used to.
A smile, a wave, we carry on not knowing exactly where we are going, not knowing where this will lead, not knowing if we will recognize each other should we meet again when the virus has traveled its corkscrew route, twisting us to shreds like a dried out cork.
Will we look back and remember things we must never do again? Will we look back with gratitude as those who survived? Survivors who know greater kindness? Who lead simpler lives? Who know how to connect when it seems no connection is possible?
I pray when we look back it will be to celebrate the changes we make, with a bottle of Mt Brave Cabernet in hand.
By Jan Zwicky On a bad day, you come in from the weather and lean your back against the door. This time of year it's dark by five. Your armchair, empty in its pool of light. That arpeggio lifts, like warmth, from the fifth of B minor, offers its hand - let me tell you a story...But in the same breath, semitones falling to the tonic: you must believe and not believe; that door you came in you must go out again. In the forest, the woodcutter's son sets the stone down from his sack and speaks to it. And from nothing, a spring wells, falling as it rises, spilling out across the dark green moss. There is sadness in the world, it says, past telling. Learn stillness if you would run clear.
Today I am sharing from Sharlyn HiDalgo's "The Healing Power of Trees." In her book March 21 - April 17 is Hawthorn Month Here is a sample of what she says: "Despite the jubilant celebration of spring's arrival, this month is a time to quiet oneself and go within. ...it refers to personal sovereignty in which we reclaim our personal power and pay attention to our own inner life. Fasting, ritual cleansing, and refraining from one's usual habits and patterns is encouraged. We may want to seek retreat and silence in order to reconnect with the divine and the unseen worlds." How timely!!
when day equals night may signs of love emerge from the fear
by Patrick Lane The heron has only one leg and he stands on both of them.
Today I am sharing a tanka written by the Heian-era Japanese female poet Izumi Shikibu around the year 1000. Stay well beautiful readers. Although the wind blows terribly here, moonlight also leaks between the roof planks of this ruined house.
Blizzard white streets line our city sifted with fear. Blue skies above hiding enemy breath ready to attack unsuspecting hosts. Our homes once lively and vibrant withdraw to silent lemon scent lysol war zones. Ninty per cent alcohol for our hands hands that touch and hold caress and scratch tap and text. Our worst foe bringing havoc to the center of our lives. But people are people. Evening dusts computer screens with song. People reach people across balconies across seas half a world apart isolated but not alone people connect. Puccini's "Nessun Dorma" soars "we will be victorious."
ScribbleDartsfromtheHeart 