An Afternoon at the Farm with Jeffrey Straker

Dreading what turn the weather might take, I was very pleasantly surprised. The afternoon was bright and warm with just a cool breeze throughout the afternoon. A modest gathering sat in lawn chairs at a farm just north of Southey where we were entertained by Jeffrey Straker, a Canadian folk/roots singer-songwriter-pianist backed by an instrumentalist on a base cello. His music was lively and covered his Saskatchewan roots from the prairie skies to the demise of the tall grain elevators! He included the song he wrote for King Charles’ coronation, which did reach King Charles, who sent a gracious reply. Jeffrey is quite a story teller as well! 

I attempted to take photos, but the sun was too bright and I was too moved by his music. These lilies were in my photo files that fit the bill. 

“Folk music is the original melody of man; 

it is the musical mirror of the world.”

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Grace

Roots of memory run deep, 

intertwined with others

but 

    the oven releases the scent of fresh bread; 

    

    the pianoforte of melody 

opens my heart; 

    silken newborn skin 

releases my smile   

    magnificent azure skies and 'air'brushed clouds

swell my soul

    delicious, warm pancakes, bacon and eggs ~ 

always on Sunday

and

I am back in my childhood of the past

while my age graces me in the present

and I move forward to live a good life.

“Life is all memory, except for the one present moment 

that goes by you so quickly you hardly catch it going.”

~ Tennessee Williams

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

Prairie Views

The prairie sky is grander than our puny schedules, plans, goals, directions ~ when clouds gather and become the dome above us, magic happens. Today clouds gathered  behind my clear view. They swirled and flexed their muscles, becoming gray and grayer, with patches and wisps of white ~ that clear sky had no choice but to let them come, 

bringing thunder, winds and rain and 

when finished with their tantrums

leaving us with clear skies at sunset.

“After sunset on the prairie, there are only stars.”

~ Carl Sandburg

Adrift

To watch these white clouds 

adrift against this azure sky

that yesterday was gray 

and cold seems impossible 

and yet on this first 

summer’s day do float aloft.

  

“A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves.”

~ Marcel Proust

(from BrainyQuote)

Evensong

 

Smooth pink orange sky

gilds leaves and rooftops

clouds barely visible loosen

light rain to tap the pavement

wrens, robins and juncos trill softly

stillness carrying their song.

a gentle world still exists

despite tests and turmoil.

“Inhale and hold the evening in your lungs.”

~ Sebastian Faulks

Wind Surfing

The artistry of the wind

  surfs clouds across 

 the early evening sky.

“Revelations are found in clouds.”

~ Serge King

Prairie Skies

Broad sweeps of blue 

are prairie skies 

clouds frayed and shaped

by invisible wind

where minuscule birds 

dip and dive,

city skyline in miniature 

sits below its grandeur

vast prairie stretches to match its breadth

“The prairie skies can always make you see more than what you believe.”

~ Jackson Burnett, The Past Never Ends

Kite Dreams

Standing still slowly, I look up to the sky past houses, trees and cities to see what could be. Reaching up to the clouds, a dream may slip through my fingers as the wind takes it into the heights ~ a kite in the sky, solid and real, while my feet stand firm on the ground. 

Standing still slowly I can dream my dreams and weave them into my life ~

not just when the sky is blue and clear

but if skies be heavy with cloud and storm

with a change in pace, a space for rest ~

as long as the kite string twines in my hand, 

I can hold fast to my dreams and smile.

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

~ J.K.Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

 

Snow Bob and Connie Cloud Visit

Snow Bob and Connie Cloud Visit

Snow Bob loved the quiet dark night. He did miss the children that played with him everyday. They always made sure he had a new scarf, warm mitts and colourful stocking cap on ~ ‘just in case you get too cold’. If Snow Bob could have even chuckled he might have. 

His friend Connie Cloud had the sky all to herself tonight. That always made her happy. Wally Wind must have chased the Cloud Bullies across to the other side of the world. Wally had slowed down to a gentle breeze, just enough to let Connie Cloud’s cape drift behind her.  

“How are you to night, Snow Bob? Aren’t you lonely down there in your pile of snow. “Oh, no, I'm very comfortable. Looking up at the sky to watch for stars. Moon has gone away for a while, but I have you up there to visit with. When a night bird calls, it makes me feel extra specially good. Kind of like hearing the children laugh.” The two friends settled into the soft, crisp winter night. They never had talked a lot, just liked to be beside each other. 

When the children returned in the morning, Snow Bob looked like an ordinary snowman and Connie Cloud was just another cloud in the sky. The children always brought him a new carrot nose, made sure his mitts were on his wire arms and his stocking cap was on straight. In Snow Bob’s snowy heart, he smiled. Connie Cloud sailed happily away with Wally Wind. They both knew that there would be another dark sky night when they would visit again.

”The real test of friendship is: can you literally do 

nothing with the other person? Can you enjoy 

those moments of life that are utterly simple?

~ Eugene Kennedy

Child's Play? ~ 4

An early watercolour painting

 ~ playing with nature’s colours

An early evening sky

~ a play of colours on the prairie.

“Adults play too (or should).”

~ Julie Lythcott-Haims,

Contemporary American educator

Into the Blue

Before sunshine brightens and

wind strokes trees and flowers

the full moon silvered the world

and shone through my window

lighting the page as I wrote ~

and nestled into the treetops

while the sky softened

into the blue.

“Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly.”

~ Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

From my Morning Window

August 2020 ~ 
From a different morning window

Pale sky pinks roof eaves ~

gauzy pink clouds drift away

trees wave in a busy wind 

a scattered flock of birds fly to the north ~ the wind stills for a moment before taking up a gust to wake any trees still sleeping ~

a wisp of smoke escapes its tall chimney to dance a slow dance in the cool air

Movement on the ground 

distracts me ~ across the street 

a husky orange cat patrols his territory.

“Set side the window. Let me drink the day.”

~ Edith Wharton, Artemis to Actaeon and Other Verses

 

And Again!!

And again!

staring…..

staring…….

Glancing out the window

at the fading blue sunset sky,

trees resting from spring winds

….and back to 

staring….

staring….

Any words, ideas

must be resting in the branches 

outside where I cannot reach them.

“If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you.”

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Immortal Dust

Ordinary dust

Gathered on furniture, ledges, in carpets, a child’s name written on an end table.

Layered dust of

a day, a few years, generations

sprinkled with dreams, laughter and tears

Fragments of dusty memories

settle within heart, soul and mind

revived by a flower, an aroma or a brilliant sky.

Ghostly dust of generations ~

invisible layers from families passing through time

traced by fading foot prints and frayed lessons

Star Dust ~

when it is our turn, we each join the dust of ages

sprinkled with dreams, laughter and tears.

“We’re all immortal, as long as our stories are told.”

~ Elizabeth Hunter, The Scribe

On an Afternoon Walk - Impatience!

Puddles on sidewalks!

Sand-filled sidewalks!

When will spring show up!?

When will the sun warm the world?

then the lake stretched ahead

with patchy soft frozen ice.

and the sky filled with

ruffled, drifting clouds

geese called to each other ~

pairing for new fluffy families

prehistoric looking trees ~ buds held tight

branches bravely bare, stand tall.

Grateful and content ~ I turned toward home

Puddled, sandy sidewalks merely a bother.

“You’re trying to eat grass that isn’t there. 

Why don’t you give it a chance to grow?”

~ Richard Adams, Watership Down