Hiking in the Dolomites

We started our via Ferrara tour in Valli del Pasubio. It was a gentle introduction to Ferrata but with temperatures continuing to be in the 30’s C we felt like we were hiking in a sauna. This Valley, as in many areas of the Dolomites, is full of reminders of the fighting that occurred between the Italians and Austrians during World War One. Each spring when the snow melts and the talus shifts, bones rise to the surface of the slopes. An Ossuary has been built to honour the remains of these unknown soldiers.

Aren’t We All A Little Crazy At Times

tracks

Everything is set in motion.

Even if we wanted to

we can’t stop the train

hauling us into a future

we can’t know.

Comfort and security

habit and norm

blur scenes

fall to the wayside.

My heart skips a beat

out of rhythm

out of balance

missing

a sense of direction.

 

We Can Find Hope

broken-web

Anger and tenderness: my selves.
And now I can believe they breathe in me
as angels, not polarities.
Anger and tenderness: the spider’s genius
to spin and weave in the same action
from her own body, anywhere —
even from a broken web.
(Adrienne Rich)

I Wonder How Many People

nighttime-city

I Wonder How Many People in This City from “The Spice-Box of Earth” by Leonard Cohen

I wonder how many people in this city
Live in furnished rooms.
Late at night when i look out at the buildings
I swear I see a face in every window
Looking back at me
and when I turn away
I wonder how many go back to their desks
and write this down.

Frayed Edges

strop

Glossy waxed floors
smooth as clean shaved skin
reflect everyday busyness.
A white stove and fridge stand stark
like your absence during the week.
The wooden table pushed in a corner
harbours nicks and scrapes
where noisy kids scramble in and out
with mouths still chewing as they leave.

Slippery floors mimic
sticky fingerprints on walls.
A shaving strop hangs by the phone
frayed from angry outbursts
that hone in on pink butts
sharpening fear and resentment
instead of blades.

Steady Drip

glacier ice(personal photo from inside the mouth of a glacier)

we turn the tap
water rushes
roars
sloshes under ice
cascades a cry through mountains
tries to hang on to steep slopes
warning of warming
a Swiss yodel
Suzuki echo
to get our attention
as glacial meltwater spills

our thirst grows

air conditioned car
to air conditioned home
we do not see
peaks slump on the horizon
a lifetime of habits
deposited downstream

polar caps melt
we lick our parched lips

Stealth

cityscape(photo credit: imprm@countach.fm)

Whispering winds carry secrets
over sleepy city streets
gather and swirl
unsuspecting thoughts

Exhausted dwellers walk
through zombie days
focus on one foot
in front of the other

Up and down, over and under
air moves in stealth
a silent intruder

Scarves wrap against it
coats button it out
still it continues
growing
until it Howls

Speechless



Words have fled my lips,
like moulting feathers that litter the ground,
useless.
My heart is in my throat.
I see abundance.
Numerous seals and penguins dot the landscape
like so many pixels creating an image.
Great beauty rises from stark surroundings.
Thick glaciers melt into leaping waterfalls,
cascade to the sea.
Wash over red rust whaling station scars
that blister the horizon.
Macabre glory days over,
sea and salt air reclaim what once ignored her.
Beleaguered oil containers lean into the future
waiting for cargo that will no longer fill
their insatiable appetite.
Once we pillaged the sea,
now the earth.