In anticipation of this Remembrance day, I prepare to find my place and take witness of today’s gathering. Those here are younger ones now and those I once knew have found shelters away from this earthly domain.
Heron Spreads its Wings In my presence the steel rule plummets to the tiled floor of criss-crossed ceramic and grout – the rule’s edges crashing upon the two colour pattern conjures a zenith of endless Zildjian cymbals rising in multiple shimmers all caught within an empty room of echo. My tranquil domain shattered – the […]
People helping people, filling sandbags, finding comforts, waiting, hope, worry, searching amidst the loss, new friends, the military is here (or has returned). Stop the water…move the people…save the livestock….save the sturgeon, evacuate, evacuate…find higher ground as sirens wail their haunting scream. In the worst of times the best of us found.
A propensity for continual searching, track and wordsmiths, to speak to this day and the one before…when a journey made to little mountains brings me again to elder acquaintances who have heard my footsteps before. Between the stone evidence of earthbound memories the ever holding grasses screech for dancing delicacy….regn.
My ears, unable to distinguish the poet’s voice from the murmurings of mechanical and inflectional clamourings, requires technology to capture the refrain, while sparrows bounce between crumbles. I walk towards the jukebox as verse and chorus rise to my recognitio…
On all of our many roads we pass by – that which once was known and – that which all purpose is known. A bit of time perhaps…to walk our trails with shorter footsteps…to develop an acute sense of place…
Dearest Mother Peace…I passed your way this morning to climb an old friend…Mt. Tolmie…to see this city…
I remind myself that my visits to this peace were once the chaos of another’s every day. I walk alongside the landscapes once familiar to ancestors. They are gone now…the soldiers – their mothers, their fathers, from either side of many languages.
Thread Seven: 1922 – Kate Palmer of Victoria, B.C. journeyed to Belgium to visit her son’s grave at Woods Military Cemetery, south of Ypres.
They are the only Papaver rhoeas (Corn Poppy) I have seen on this journey of discovery – their colour stands out amidst all this new growth from nature’s palette. Gentle in the breeze, catching the sun’s rays, their motion reminds me of a single moment when hurt is caught between the living and the fallen.