Step Away from the Ledge

Out on a ledge that was not really a ledge but an immense chunk of terracotta coloured granite in a National Park in Colorado, I merely wanted to look over the ledge of rock to see how far down I could see. But, in a bit of mischief, I think I also 

wanted to worry my aunt who practically pulled me away from a danger I did not believe was there. I succeeded in worrying my aunt, but never did get to see how far down I could see. I did see 

the vast country of mountains that ranged 

all around us, domed by the stunning sky.

Fortunately ~ well sometimes ~ the memory 

remains, while the photos are lost in many 

bouts of relocation. Memory is like that ~ 

a ledge that we all stand on to peer into our past, 

remembering times of vast beauty, times of 

mischief, or times when that ledge leans into 

the dark. We pull ourselves back from the 

pooling depths, or maybe a worried aunt does, 

so we can look to the beauteous world once more.

“Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending 

beneath her, still she sings away all the same, know she has wings.”

~ Victor Hugo

Drawing on Voice

Veronica and Betty, teenagers and best friends, didn’t have much of a voice in the 1960’s; more than their mothers before them and less than their granddaughters today. Spinning from comic books to graphic novels, to TV and to movies they advanced like chess pieces, only a smidge, so their voices could be heard but still easily silenced. But Veronica and Betty, still teenagers, were best friends then, all the way to now. From comic book characters to stars of the silver screen, still chasing Archie, Veronica is still rich and Betty, that girl next door.

“It takes courage to grow up and become you really are.”

~ e.e.cummings

Somewhere ~ VOICE ~ Theme for August, 2024

Veronica and Betty…….

Out on a ledge…….

Instantly, they turned…….

Cruising down a dusty……

Excitement was heard……

“Even when things are at their worst, there’s 

a little voice in your head saying ‘Good story!’”

~ Salman Rushdie

An Awkward Explanation

Scrolling through my digital photo album looking for an interesting picture, I came upon this one. 

I remember tilting my head back, hoping I wouldn’t get dizzy, fall and land in an ungainly way, but would try

to look cool, and explain to some kind passerby that I merely wanted to take a photo 

of the leaves against the sky that suggested the tropics. 

Tropics that I’ve never seen except the last few days 

here on the prairies in over 30 degree 

Centigrade heat. But this photo was taken in 

June between rains that are a distant memory.

“There isn’t always an explanation for everything.”

~ Ernest Hemingway

Hidden in Nature

I couldn’t tell whether the berries

were too young to form thick cluster, 

but they were perfectly positioned 

under a multitude of leafy umbrellas; 

hidden from any birds that may be 

looking for an early dinner.

In this green shadowed shelter these berries should be safe to grow and then turn shades of purple and are probably more tasty, or do birds recognize taste the way humans do? Having not studied ornithology, I don’t know if their tiny tongues come equipped with taste buds.

It is nature’s way to have all living things join with one another. Connections hidden in the 

ingenious ways of unknown taste buds, ears that are 

hidden by feathers, mobility of wings or four legs 

instead of two. It is only the curiosity of children and scientists to

wonder and postulate about details lost to the work-a-day adult.

“Nature is the source of all true knowledge.”

~ Leonardo da Vinci

Thoughts about Trees

Some may notice that I like trees. 

Trees that are spaced along streets, 

shading family homes or apartment 

buildings. Trees that are lined and old, 

that show what solid means. They’ve 

given up wondering what will happen 

tomorrow and tomorrow. Apparently 

trees are sentient and know what goes on. They just keep quiet about it. 

Do they talk to the young saplings in the 

parks or yards about the neighbourhood, 

the children that tug their branches as if 

they were pigtails. The vehicles that will 

pass and spew fumes into the air that they

clean The dogs and cats that use them in 

quite an unsanitary manner, grateful for 

the rain that washes them clean. Do they 

warn them about taking on a prairie wind 

but know that, in their youth, they will 

anyway. And lose their leaves in the gamble.

Are the trees full of beautiful coloured flowers 

in spring of another class, only deigning to grow

on a plain city avenue, because they were planted 

there, or do they have a modicum of humility when 

their flowers fade and fall to be coloured snow on 

the grass. I would ask them all these questions but

their answers would be silent as their summer shade.

“Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, 

whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth.”

~ Hermann Hesse, German-Swiss novelist and poet

1877 - 1962

Balcony Breakfast

When the sunshines hot before it 

even reaches noon, having breakfast 

on my shady balcony is a real treat. 

Sunday’s traffic is quieter. No service 

vans, or lumbering garbage trucks to 

invade the acoustics of the street. Clear 

and clean before the church bells chime,

I can hear the birds even if I don’t 

recognize their call or tweet or chirp. 

My breakfast of egg and bacon, 

grapefruit and toast served to me, 

by me, on my mom’s china plate 

makes this a special day of the week.

One lonely scout wasp challenged me to 

my buttered granola toast and blackberry 

jam. He lost that match or maybe didn’t 

find my breakfast as delicious as I did.

“Breakfast is a beautiful, elegant thing; 

a meal to be savoured and embraced.”

~ Jamie Oliver