A Crow in Fog

 I had the advantage!

Crows - and birds in general - seem to have an aversion to having their picture taken. In my experience, as soon as my hand pulls my cell phone out, before I can even turn it on, or lift it to click a photo - the avian photo op takes flight!

I first noticed the quiet of the fog, only torn by the occasional obnoxious goose discussion. But that settled into the silence. Then I noticed the crow, its ebony presence barely touched by the fog. It was intent on grooming, lifting a wing, fluffing feathers and not noticing me at all. From my second floor window ~ I had the advantage. 

“If men had wings and bore black feathers, 

few of them would be clever enough to be crows.”

~ Henry Ward Beecher

Awake!!

2:45 a.m.

Soft twitters hint

“It’s too early.”

2:50 a.m.

Jet sleeps in a curl,

purring softly.

2:55 a.m.

Shuttered eyes

merely a foil.

3:00 a.m.

Lamp switched on.

Feet hit the floor.

~~~

6:45 p.m.

Eyelids droop, head nods.

It’s been a long day.

“No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for 

that purpose to keep awake all day.,”

Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

On an Afternoon Walk - Square One

Musing under the springtime sky

Perfect symmetry ~

four sides with a

numbered space

like one section of

a hopscotch game

chalked on cement

the place to return to

when the game turns

on one end to the other

Perfect symmetry ~

four sides with space 

filled with a past design.

“Yea, I shall return with the tide.”

~ Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

Chapter Two, Episode Eighty-Six - This Old Place - Situationally Theirs

This Old Place

Dez was still sleeping, Cook hadn’t come in yet and Emelina was restless. Her husband wouldn’t be off shift for another five days. Dez had come to the Estate to spend time with her sister. They had both been busy with other things and hadn’t seen each other for maybe only a week, but it seemed a lot longer. Dez was looking for a small part-time job in the city, only to last for a month or so until the orchard needed more of her attention. Emelina had been doing ………she stopped. What had she been doing? She’d had meetings with the hospital charity board one or two times, she’d been to the bank a few times for Digby……there must had been more. Whispering to herself she said “I’ll just go for a walk and let Dez sleep.” Still early but warming up already, she slipped a light jacket on and tiptoed to the front door. Putting her hiking boots on, she quietly opened the door, closed it softly behind her and turned to go for a walk. A rooster’s crow echoed across the estate. The sky was clear and all around her was wet from the night’s rain. Zipping up her jacket, she shivered. “Not warm enough yet. I need to get walking.”

Taking the gravelled path from the house that led down to the walking track, she set out walking then broke into a slow jog. Once on the track she slowed her pace, stopped and listened to the birds as they fluttered about the trees. She was warned away by a bird or two if they thought she was getting too close to a nest. Her shoulders relaxed and she turned her face to the sky. Whatever busyness there had been slid off of her shoulders and fell among the new grass by the track.

When she got to the far end of the track she stopped and leaned against the big old tree covered in moss. Looking back at her home, looking around at the expansive yard and glancing to the side at the garden and orchard, she felt small. Too small to take advantage of all that belonged to her. It wasn’t the first time she had felt this nudge to do something with all of this space, this potential. She’d had a plan - rather an idea - that the estate house could be used for extra beds in the pandemic, then it was something else, and something else. None of it coming to fruition. She wanted the garden to be shared with the community. That didn’t happen. 

The only thing that had really happened was that she had her sister back. Her sister was taking care of the orchard. She had developed an apiary that was struggling because they were both still learning about keeping bees. She stood away from the tree, patted it and looked up into its branches. “So, what do you think? You’ve been here longer than any of us on this old place.” Cocking her head, she listened for an answer. Only a little squirrel peered curiously down from above, birds twittered and a fog horn sounded from a distant strait. Sighing, she said good-bye to the tree, the squirrel and the birds. The sound of the fog horn lingered. No longer restless, she had not really solved any of the past or developed plans for the future. She only knew that her heart was at ease. Today would just be a day of rest.

“Whether we like it or not, we all come from someplace. And at 

some point in our lives, we have to make peace with that place.”

~ Jeffery Stepakoff, The Orchard

A Child's History of Fairness

A Child's History of Fairness

“It’s just not fair!!” Pouting and angry, the little girl sat on a child’s chair in front of her mother.

Her mother took a slow deep breath. In a quiet, soft voice, she said “I know honey, but the Public Health Nurse said you need to stay inside.”

“It’s still not fair.”

~~~~~

I don’t know if that’s the conversation that I had with my mother when I had measles as a child of about five years old. How does any parent explain to their child that little red, itchy spots could make them go blind? And that staying in the dark when all the other kids are playing outside would stop the other kids from getting sick? How does a parent explain that the liquid in a little syringe with a needle will help her to play outside again?

Hearing kids laughing, running and playing outside my window today returning home from school was the trigger for this memory. Almost seventy years later, this long standing memory could be faulty about the actual words. But not just the drapes dark, with lime green designs. There were no other kids around. Not even brothers or sisters. I don’t remember feeling sick, but vaguely remember the spots and definitely the dark drapes.

It just wasn’t fair then and I’m certain that for every kid surviving this Covid pandemic, it doesn’t feel fair now.

“We’re all five-year-olds. We don’t know how to do 

this thing called life. Are you faking it?”

~ Byron Katie

Laundry Day

 

Socks and undies,

towels and sheets

jeans and shirts

sweaters and napkins

sloshed and spun

dried and fluffed

smoothed and folded

until the next laundry day.

“The laundry has its hands on my dirty shirts, sheets, towels 

and tablecloths, and who knows what tales they tell.”

~ Joseph Smith, Jr.

Believe

 

There is little design to believing ~

it slips in 

behind tragedy or sorrow

when all seems lost 

and only getting worse

until strength of spirit 

changes the colour of

worries from stormy grey to cloudless sunny days.

“You have to believe. Otherwise, it will never happen.”

~ Neil Gaiman, Stardust