To Grip or not to Grip

A winter of dangerous ice

hidden under greying or fresh snow, 

oddly shaped lumps or 

sheets worthy of a skating rink. 

walks or strolls outside 

not wise until yesterday. 

Heavy rubber bands slip

over my boots & hold my feet. 

little black dots in the centre 

of the yellow dots ~ tungsten stems 

to grip the ice & keep me upright 

on such paths of slippery danger.

“When you’re on the ice, you have very little time, 

you see very little and everything happens really quick.”

~ Steve Yzerman, retired hockey player

Hanging On

Nerves of steel shining and rigid are only 

waiting to snap. I suppose it’s just a 

metaphor and I’m being too picky. 

Too literal. A description of bravery in the 

face of a challenge or danger when in 

fact a person’s insides feel frozen stiff 

or have turned to jelly. When the challenge 

has passed, or the danger has been neutralized, 

those nerves of steel disappear behind a closed 

door where no one can see the puddle of jelly 

on the floor or the tears thawing all over a pillow. Perhaps those nerves could be 

succumbing to the back and forth of a rocking chair 

until sleep softens the nerves of steel

until they are needed again.

“When you’re scared, when you’re hanging on, when life is 

hurting you, then you’re going to see what you’re really made of.”

~ Sylvestor Stallone

“Why Not?”

“Why Not?”

“Why not?”  Her head tipped to one side, she looked out at her garden. It was really only a garden in her imagination. Just a plot of earth behind their house, a big boulder in one corner. Empty nesters, she and Peter had planned to make a secret garden. Complete with a white gazebo with curtains that could be pulled down as the sun came around. Ferns and wisteria in all shades of mauve, a pool for the silent boulder. She smiled. It made her happy each time it rained to see it shining and wet. Just like it would be if……….  All their plans had been set aside. Drawings and dreams filed away. 

Constance worked and came home. Their children away in different cities. Their own lives, with their own dreams. A journalist, Peter was away; they didn’t know for how long. He was stationed half way across the world in a war zone. They talked most nights on a video chat when the internet connections were good. 

Coming from work, she’d been listening to a gardening program on the radio. She could at least have that much. Easing the car into the small garage, she deftly avoided the supplies they had started to amass. Turning the engine off she sat looking wistfully at them all. “What’s the matter with me?!” With the back of her hand she pushed wetness from her eyes. Struggling to get out of the car, she squeezed sideways, knocking precariously balanced tools to the floor, catching the trowel that was destined for the hood of the car with her one free hand. Holding her briefcase to her, she edged along the car to the door of the garage. “I’ll need clean clothes for work next week. Thank goodness it’s Friday.” 

Every night she stopped by the boulder, patted it and went into the silent house. Tonight felt different. The house was still silent, no supper on the table. There never was. Briefcase on the kitchen counter, she made a cup of coffee and just stood, thinking. “I wonder.” The kitchen computer blinked on. “Connie? Are you home yet? Connie? If you’re there, I’ve only got five minutes tonight.” Her face lit up. Glad to hear his voice, she was suddenly excited. “Five minutes? Is that all? I’ve got so much to talk with you about. It’s the garden, Peter.” He was happy to hear her excitement. He hoped she couldn’t hear the air raid sirens. “I’m in a bunker, Connie so it’s private. Tell me what’s got you all excited.” Words spilled out of her about digging the dirt, lining the pool, getting water plants, finding workmen to do what she couldn’t do, researching you-tube sites, setting stones for a path from the house, finding fish for their pond, sourcing materials. “Connie. Connie. Stop. Our five minutes are almost up. I wish I could be home to help!” She felt sick. Here she was talking all about her brilliant ideas, and her precious husband was in danger every day. She had heard the air raid sirens. “Peter, I’m sorry. I didn’t let you get a word in edgewise.” She touched his face on the cold screen. He looked so tired. “Well, sweetness, I have only one thing to add.” Smiling through his exhaustion he said: “Why not?” 

“You see things; and you say ‘Why?’ But I dream 

things that never were; and I say ‘Why not?’”

~ George Bernard Shaw

Signs

How the wind in the trees

shapes branches and twigs

 

where snow rests

and blankets the frozen lake, 

nestles around trees and brush,

settles in notches and crevices;

tracks sliced in the snow 

by skiers, hikers and rabbits;

a lone city sign warns of 

danger beneath the lake's soft blanket  

a mitten atop the lone sign

warns of cold little fingers.

“Signs may be but the sympathies of nature with man.”

~ Charlotte Bronté,  Jane Eyre

Snowscape

Snow fell

softly

gently

Silencing dark blemishes

softening sharpness

disguising icy slides

Snow fell

glittering

ghostly

Graceful trees

branches outlined 

rough bark crevices filled

Snow fell

artful

coldly beautiful

“When snow falls, nature listens.”

~ Antoinette Van Kleep

A Change in Scenery

out my living room window 

from island west to prairie broad, a change in scenery arises 

from squirrels and deer 

to rabbits and geese

urbanized wildlife pokes and 

nibbles at grass and shrubs

only scampering away when 

threatened by my tap on the window

“Yet wild things have a far more rational fear of us than is ours of them……”

~ Angela Carter, the Bloody Chamber and Other Stories

Mellisa Catches a Frog

Naively pushing on, the little girl waded through the big pool of mud she had stumbled into while looking for frogs and tadpoles in the grassy ditch. Her mother had warned her. ‘Don’t go too far into that ditch. You never know what might be hiding in there.There could be snakes or even old tin cans!’ But Mellisa was a brave little girl. She had her shiny new, bright yellow rubber boots on her chubby little feet. She knew nothing could hurt her. And she might have been right. Pushing her dumb glasses up on her face, Mellisa pushed through the mud. There it was. A little green, speckled frog sat on the big rock at the end of the ditch. She stopped. Stood ab-so-lute-ly still. Hardly breathing at all. She could feel her glasses slipping. But she didn’t move. Mellisa wiggled her toes. She slid forward just a teeny tiny bit. Cold mud oozed down into her boots. Her mom would be so mad. But she really needed to get that frog. She was close enough now. Mellisa leaned forward really fast. But the frog! It jumped faster. Mellisa fell flat on her face. In the mud. The frog landed on top of her curly black hair. Mellisa grabbed it with both hands! She had a real frog!! And Mellisa was covered in mud. It dripped from her hair. Her new play time jacket was wrecked. Her brand new yellow boots were filled with mud. Her blue jeans were soaked and dirty. Mellisa almost started to cry. But then the frog wiggled and squirmed. She stuffed it in her biggest pocket, struggled out of the ditch and put her prize in the big jar she brought for it. Then, slowly and a bit scared, but still brave, Mellisa went into the house.

“Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, 

heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of; 

the heck with sugar and spice.”

~ Bethany Hamilton

Author's note: Edited April 21, 2024

Fixing a Flat

Leverage is always useful

for lifting heavy weights ~

cars with flat tires come to mind.

But what of the mind

with no more air to breathe

motivation melancholic

  inspiration indifferent

    energy ebbed away.

What lever can lift these weights ~

threats that stall forward movement,

creating a lump of flesh that has become

a questionable use of space on this earth.

Sound too melodramatic?

     too histrionic?

        too emotional?

Absolutely - unless in the midst of the mud.

The human mind is a trickster

full of mischievous and dangerous deceit

yet with 

novel nuggets of knowledge

  basic bits of belief 

      intuitive iotas of insight

their leverage slips into muddied thoughts 

scrabbles beneath melancholy, indifference and energy ~

the simplicity of each tiny next step 

breathes puffs of air into the mind’s flat tire.

“It’s not necessary to do extraordinary things to get extraordinary results.

~ Warren Buffet

In the Midst of Turmoil

In a world of many dangers 

on the street

in our homes

in our communities

in our wider global world

We are beset with many demands

inside our busy lives

Many should do’s

Many musts

Many speak outs

When we feel so vulnerable

When our lives are shaken inadvertently

Our choices are narrowed

Our choices are finite

Out choices must satisfy the moment

When we take control of our choices

within unexpected chaos

We can settle our minds

We can support our own lives

We can begin again.

“We make choices and are in turn made by them.”

~ Sheena Iyengar, The Art of Choosing

Orlando Tragedy - Opinion Piece

Cross Country Checkup on CBC Radio this afternoon, hosted by Asha Tomlinson, posed the question ‘what are your thoughts about the mass shooting in Orlando, Florida’, a tragedy costing 50 people their lives and putting 53 more people in hospital with injuries. The issues raised throughout the two hour call-in show were terrorism, homophobia, and the lack of gun control in the United States. All are valid issues that our society discusses regularly. This most recent tragedy brought them all to the forefront of our daily lives once more.

While I listened to each of the well voiced opinions and observations, one thread seemed to underlie each of the issues. That thread I recognized is the ability and practice to hate what humanity seems to have mastered. There is no legislation that can stop or alter hate that is 

already a part of any individual’s life.

So what can be done? What can I do?

I confess, I am not going to pretend to feel the anger, the devastation or the fear that I heard many voice today. Stepping into those burning feelings on a continuing basis, leaves me unsettled, with the potential for paranoia to creep in. Hate can follow closely behind, clinging and convincing me that hate is necessary - when hate is completely counterproductive. Hate is divisive.

Terrorism is global, unpredictable and frightening
Homophobia, a great danger to the LGBTQ community, is immense, dangerous and frightening.
Lack of gun control is political, bound in generational beliefs and, again, frightening to the children and adults alike.

To be aware of how we treat all people on a daily basis, and then change what needs to be changed, is the beginning of addressing each of these issues. Sounds simplistic? Naive?
Maybe it is. 

“Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.”

~ Confucius

Hear No More

I just don’t think 
I can hear the word bravery 
one
more 
time.
because it doesn’t apply to me.

Oh, I’m not sorry 
that I live free of
devastating health issues
financial ruin
wartorn homelands
fleeing from life threatening danger.

Realizing the dangers that others face
while trying to live their lives
seeing the abundance all around me
in grocery stores
so very many clothing stores
sidewalks, roads and electricity
running water and a warm home

So very much more ~
I am humbled and grateful.

“Love, forgiveness, modesty, humility and 

gratitude are most important virtues in life.”

~ P. Remes

Author's Note: Edited January 15, 2024

Building Visions

The architect that is life
Builds visions all around us
Pictures of what 
Can be
Should be
Must be
Full of desires and beautiful dreams
Outlines for life’s path
Full of potential for joy scraped raw by 
Cautions about potential dangers all around us
Curtains shading momentary real pleasures or dangers.

“The universe will never force a mindset on you. You have complete 

free agency to choose fear and suffer unnecessarily if you want to.”

~  Kimberly Giles

Instinct and Intuition

Antlers still thick with velvet, the young deer strolled through the tall grass nipping bites of grasses and wildflowers. He saw me and only looked at me long enough to say good morning, then strolled on. Maybe six feet away, he continued on his quiet breakfast stroll in the Garry Oak Meadow of Beacon Hill Park. It occurred to me that he had no fear of my presence, had no doubt about his safety, despite my camera pointed right at him. Aren’t man and wild beast afraid of each other, giving wide berth to each other when suddenly in the same space?

Self-doubt is a human construct. There seems no doubt of any kind among the birds and trees, deer and grasses. Safety or danger is or it isn’t. Able or not able. Trusting their instincts they put themselves forward - or not.  

“By banishing doubt and trusting your intuitive feelings,

you clear a space for the power of intention to flow through.”

~ Wayne Dyer

Re-Post: A Bridge to Another World

Just a plain, ordinary bridge that looked
strong
solid
straight
not too narrow
not too wide

The night was dark ~ 
how long was the bridge
not so distant lights looked more welcoming than the land just behind ~ hostile and dangerous ~
too dangerous for this traveler of many worlds

But what lay under the bridge
beneath was there a 
deep chasm to be forever lost in
raging river threatening to drown any soul falling in
was the bridge as new and strong as it looked

how could I tell
who could tell me
walking in the world,
sureness of strength and wits
had carried much weight,
but were no longer reliable.

is this the only bridge to be crossed
dare I set foot on it
dare I try to go into this other world 
just to get out of this self-created chaos

no rules are posted for crossing a bridge this size ~
just keep to the side
hold on to the rail should steps falter
keep moving slow and steady.

The choice to turn back always remains ~ but....
what if I am the bridge?

"If you doubt yourself, then indeed 

you stand on shaky ground."

~ Henrik Ibsen