Political rhetoric aside, all I see
through dangling words is a board
fence, paint chipped and in need
of a touch up. Possibly much more
than a touch up. Real foundational
repair, not just propping up, but I
suppose because it’s not my fence,
I don’t need to worry about it? …….
“Rhetoric is the art of ruling the minds of men.”
~ Plato
Author's note: just listened to the Saskatchewan Provincial Debate.
Just a walk down any street
and I want a paint brush to dip
in all the colours of autumn to
bring them home with me. It
seems indelicate to make an
image that can be so easily
deleted. When the crumpled
tissue paper flowers have been
put to bed, summer colours have become tidy mounds of black;
replaced by fluttering reds and
golds, prairie florals in bloom.
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”
~ Albert Camus
It’s more than just Monday.
It’s an everyday thing.
Like the trees and the seasons.
Trees that stand guard and
seasons that change.
When I got in my little blue car
to drive away in 1988 I couldn’t
know that I would grow up for
32 years. I couldn’t know of all
the seasons that would pass, that I
would return to new growth and
growing in my family; carrying
all the ancestral bits of DNA of
an ever spreading family. Branches of an original tree. But for now, I hear the rustle of golden leaves,
stirred by the wind of a changing
season and know that I am home.
It’s more than just Monday.
It’s an everyday thing.
Like the trees and the seasons.
Trees that stand guard and
seasons that change.
“We can only be said to be alive in those moments
when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”
~ Thornton Wilder
