COUGAR ANNIE

[This poem is about Ada Annie-Rae Arthur, who came to Clayoquot Sound in the early 1900's, settling on rough land near Hesquiaht Harbour, which she worked her entire life to tame and cultivate. She is one of the notable characters of the area, having survived four husbands, personally killed 72 cougar, and raising eleven children.  The flower, above, is on her property. The photograph is likely included in the book Cougar Annie's Garden, by Margaret Horsfield. The garden is now maintained by the Temperate Rainforest Field Study Centre.

The poem was inspired by a quotation by David Whyte:


"I pull the bow out into the wide sea,
paddle dripping towards darkness,
and enter again
the quiet."]


June 2001


In the fading light,
I can just make out
the black shapes of the trees,
tall sentinels
that darkly watch me pass,
roots tangled thickly
down the ancient banks
right to the water's edge,
the shore held fast.


Dip and lift,
the only sound the water's lick,
paddle moving cleanly
through the spreading flow,
the low call of a sleepy owl,
winglift of swooping heron
in mid-flight.
Earth falls away,
above all a starshine glow,
inverted bowl of sky at night
protects me as I go.


Around the point, I drift into Cow Bay
where the big grays are feeding
in a pod.
A whoosh, a whoosh, a whoosh
a vast arched back
a fluke
and then the mystical descent,
their breath sounds like
the hidden voice
of God.


Dip of oar,
scattered droplets
silvered by the moon,
to the head
of Hesquiaht Harbour
home so soon
to farm and garden
mine now, only mine:
husbands and children
spilled like the sands of time,
homestead clawed
from tangled bush,
hardscrabble years
in which
I tamed this once wild patch
of ancient pine.


Now no one here but me,
no one to see:
the vibrant blooms
that spread out everywhere,
unexpected garden
from unyielding soil,
an unexpected life
of endless toil,
I now reflect upon.
I planted flowers
and blooming bushes
all those years,
nourished with laughter,
watered well with tears,
they flourished longer
than leggy children,
grown and so swiftly gone.
Seventy years upon this place,
from young bride
to homesteader/hermit
no man stayed long beside.














At ninety
still a hard glint
in my eyes
a-glistening,
my face bird-like, alert,
intent and listening,
hands cradling the rifle,
head cocked - hush!-
ears tuned for the sound
of cougar in the bush.

72 cougar I killed
over the years,
mice and chickens'
necks I snapped
without a thought.
Four husbands
lived beside me
then they died;
eleven children
brought
into the world,
eleven gone.
What mattered most
this place, the life
that living in it
wrought.



All gone now,
but this place meant
for no other.
The blooms turn
their sweet faces up
to meet me
like a lover.

The fog parts;
my canoe slips
in between
the veil that hides
from this world
the unseen.
These ghostly shores
I shall forever roam.
I'm Cougar Annie and I'm
heading Home.

ALL YOU NEED TO BE

My two beautiful daughters,

Lisa, above, and Stephanie, below with Sanchez

February 12, 2003

You do not have to be Superwoman

You do not have to leap tall buildings

with a single bound

You only have to get through

this one intricately challenging

and slightly preposterous day

with as much grace and humor as possible

Tell me how hard it is,

sometimes,

just to keep going

and I will hear you

Meanwhile the myriad galaxies spin

in their mystical and so mysterious orbits

across a midnight sky bejeweled with diamonds

Meanwhile the generous sun comes up each morning

offering a brand new day for trying

Meanwhile all beings in the cosmos

arise and go about their single day of solitary living

Whoever, you are, whatever your state of being,

the world awaits your constant co-creation -

issues you a blank canvas that cries out for

all the vibrant colors of your day,

you the living paintbrush, to draw forth

all your fire and fortitude and passion

and your deep, sweet peacefulness

at resting in the life that is oh so sweetly

and familiarly

yours

*** *** *** *** *** ***

safe passage

october 8, 2004

looking around

at all the broken lives -

people with mental illness,

depression, poverty-

such a long highway

from where they are

to where they want to be-

bombed countrysides

famine and despair

the whole earth a global entity
in need of healing-

what prayer

can possibly encompass

all that needs to happen?

what prayer

like a mantra

whispered by a mother

over her sleeping children

can grant

the impossible....

that all may have

safe passage

through this world?

Poems for Eric

[I am hiding this back in my archives, as they are not for the general public. But they are a part of my history, and part of my poetical output, so I want to include them. These poems document a part of my journey that I often remember. Eric was the one and only man I was ever with because I really loved him. Other men "happened" to me. I was with them because they chose me, not the other way around. Even so, it was far from perfect. We did love each other, but Eric was unable to commit and I was too insecure in those days, too afraid of abandonment to be okay without a commitment. He was a beautiful but tortured soul without the gift of happiness. I was a free spirit trying to be okay in cages. We moved in together with a total of five teenagers and one seven year old between us. Clearly impossible. The kids were not happy and I felt we were all paying a high price without any surety (though there is never any surety.) Plus I was all too aware - he made me all too aware - that his eye was always roving - there were so many other, more beautiful women out there, and I was only one woman. How could he be content with a snack, when there was a whole smorgsbord waiting?

Eric gave me doves on my birthday. One of the doves was killed by his cat. The other dove lived on alone. The evening I told Eric I was moving out, he sat in silence for a few horrible moments. Then he simply reached over and opened the door of the cage. The dove flew out to its freedom. That said it all.

However, when I look back, he is the only one I regret, the only one I remember, the only one my feelings did not change for. These days he is living in Nicaragua and feels he is in Paradise. I am glad he has found happiness. Because I so wanted someone to share the journey with, my task was to make it through this life mostly alone. I have children, and friends aplenty, but never managed a long-term partner and, finally, I no longer wanted or needed one. Though, at any time through all the years, had Eric ever called and asked me to, I would have been on my way to him within the hour.]

February 16, 1983

After the long night,
an early morning.
After the long silence,
a tapping at my window.
After too long alone,
I rose to greet you,
and now I often wake
at four in the morning,
remembering your touch
that woke me,
woke me
from my long sleep.

March 3, 1983

Out in the country,
brown and bare,
I'm watching seagulls
circling
gray rainy skies
when suddenly
thoughts of you
invade my quietude
with an urgency
that tells me
yes,
this must be
passion.

March 14, 1983

somtimes I feel
like a closed book
I want you to open
as if you see
only the covers of me
and I'm not sure
if you even want to read
all that lies hiding
inside of me.
sometimes in the dark
when we open up the pages
e get close
but time and all
there always is to do
intrudes
and I feel I've been snapped shut
in the middle of a chapter
till the next time
there is a time
and it's not that I'm asking
for more time
for us to be -
only to know
whether you want to
keep on
reading me.

March 24, 1983

you like beginnings:
the thrill of the chase.
I'm careful at beginnings.
I like to feel safe.
You came on so strong
that almost, I believed
and though you are already
halfway gone
I begin to feel attached
just as you leave.
For you like beginnings
and pain has taught me
everything I know
and so perhaps I was
a little slow
in removing my defences
just before you go.

March 39, 1983

Like a daisy
growing out of a crack
in the pavement
I see you,
your feet in cement,
your head in the sun.
Fill your eyes full of clouds,
your heart with content:
scent of earth,
blue of sky,
good work to be done
and no need to ask why.
Think a thought of me
on the periphery
of your day,
sweet person,
as I grow peaceful
in my garden plot.
Like a daisy
I count all your petals,
one by one:
he loves me,
he loves me not.

April 17, 1983

sand-sitting
at the end of a
peaceful day
spent watching you -
loving
the face,
the smile,
the voice,
the quiet eyes.
Lake-watching,
and listening to my heart
as over and over
it says
your name
your name
as over and over
and over
it says
your name.


April 27, 1983

your face
above me
dark-bearded and beautiful
against the sky

trees
benign
behind your shoulders
and in my heart
a boulder
that dammed up
all my feelings
slipped and slid
away
and I know
I love you
love you
for giving me
my most beautiful day.

May 1, 1983

Toss me aside
so lightly.
It doesnt hurt
because you prove
there never really was
any caring there
to make it
worth
the shedding of
one tear.

May 5, 1983

sifting through your words
and reservations,
your disclaimers,
I return again and again
to the friendly closeness
of lying in your arms.
With all the holding off
you do with words,
with your arms you draw me
closer, closer in
and so you draw me back to you again
from where I'd retreated
in my fear of pain
and even though you promise
to be leaving soon
I love you now
in the dark, dark, dark
of your room.

May 23, 1983

Rooftops
and sunshine,
your face caught against a backdrop
of fluffy Muppet movie clouds
on clear blue sky.
Your kind eyes looking down
rush of traffic down below,
children's voices,
then no sound.
Only you and me,
locked suspended
in a world of We,
eyes closed fast
against the light,
holding tight.
And I forgive the universe
for all those lonely years,
for all the tears
and times I thought
it would never happen to me.
I had almost forgotten
the little I ever knew
of closeness
and love on rooftops
till life gifted me
with you.

May 28, 1983

apprehension
when I sometimes feel you
traveling vast distances away
following other faces
that beckon you like stars
and I remember
too many years alone
untouched, untouching
and how I traveled far
to find this closeness
just being where you are

Fear turns
to gratitude
that at least
once more
I've had the chance
to hold you close
within the friendly dark
and tell you
just how beautiful
you are.

june 13, 1983

look outward, friend,
and see the beauty there:
each flower and each tree
so perfectly being
what it's meant to be.

look inward, friend,
and see your beauty too.
Arent you as beautiful as any tree?
So much I see there when I look at you;
just like a flower,
all you need do is be.

look closer, friend, and see
the way you are reflected in my eyes:
you're made of star-gazing and dreams,
sorrow and seeking,
and through your pain-filled eyes
your soul is speaking.

Like an eagle rising through black clouds
into the clearer air is how I see you.
I long for you to fly beyond the pain
and find the freedom that awaits you there
when you let go and see how much remains.

July 2, 1983

still like an eagle,
above the clouds you soar now.
Something has freed you,
flying up so high.
And down below,
I catch my breath to see you:
a thing of beauty
dark against the sky.

August 12, 1983
TO A SEAGULL

Jonathan,
I watch you walk on sand.
The surf rides up the beach,
retreats,
like emotions fill my heart full -
ebb and flow.
Music plays behind me.
My feet play in sand,
and my spirit soars
as new contentment
fills me fuller
than I've ever been
before.

August 19, 1983

The baby dove takes flight.

You walk under the branches
with kind eyes.

In total trust
it steps into your hand.

I engrave the sight
upon my heart
forever.

I know it is your spirit,
your inner being
that I am seeing
shine so plainly there,
and that I love a man
of rare worth and beauty

So in total trust
my heart takes flight
and comes to rest
within your
gentle hand.

September 15, 1983
THOUGHTS THAT
DIDNT MAKE IT
AS A POEM

sometimes I'd like to
just chase clouds and dream,
roll downhill
through buttercups and clover
and pretend
there'll be a time
someday
when all the pain
and struggle
will be over.

When I lie beside you
my tears are not for joy
(though there is joy
in all I've found in you)
but for chagrin
that even in finding
all I have been
seeking
it's still real life,
each day with its
own struggles
and I still must stay
so strong.
Not halving the load,
each of us packs
his own burden,
and all we can
hope to do
is comfort
and take comfort in
each other.

Hello, fellow traveler.
Your path is so like mine.
Like two oxen in a field
did we stumble and stagger
over rocks and hillocks
to meet
and try to
pull our load
in tandem.
How we fight
the bitter harness,
our eyes raised
skyward
to where the world
is free,
up to our knees
in mud,
with a head
full of dreams,
flogging
flogging
-to what avail?-
hello, brother dreamer.
When you hold me,
comfort is
the only word I know.
I see
your spirit
striving
and I admire
your beauty
for surviving.
Let me help you.
Let me tell you
how you help me
by giving me days
when I feel life is all
I ever wanted it to be.
And in days
when my spirit cries
it doesnt want
any more
any more
just no more pain
and struggle,
you help me
just by being there,
you share,
and in your sharing,
you bring forth
all my caring.

Hello, friend.
Your hand in mine
doesnt make the load
any lighter
but it sure feels friendly.
And there is a rightness
being here with you
that I dont need to
put words to.
I'm glad I didnt miss
this part of the highway,
so much nicer walking
here with you.
I'd have missed so much
I'm learning
on my own.
And I may cry
sometimes
because there is
no easy way
but all I have to do
is look at you
to know
I'd rather share
the struggle
here with you
day by day
than take
the easiest path
leading
any other way.

October 17, 1983

Swimmer in
my secret sea,
you've touched
the inner parts
of me.
While others
circled
on my shore,
you've come
where no one
ever was before.

Striving together
upon the tide,
locked together
do we ride
and you are
deep deep deep
within
the inner chambers
where I hide.

And oh, the fear,
the fear it comes
at thoughts
of one day
being one
after all the
warmth of you
and the closeness
of being two.

Swimmer in
my secret sea,
I know words
wont set fears free,
but you have
traveled far too far
to where
my deepest
feelings are.

And even when
you go away,
part of you
will always stay
swimming in
my secret sea
in the
deepest
heart of me.

October 15, 1983

Brother Dreamer,
when your struggles take you
so far away
from where my touch
can reach you,
lonely as the eagle
who soars gray skies
and perches on jagged peaks
surveying harsh
landscapes
of the inner soul,
it makes me
lonely too.
Helplessly,
I watch
your painful journey,
knowing all my love
encircling you
without
does not warm
that cold distant place
where you're circling
within.
Beautiful traveler,
your path
becomes
my path,
your pain
my pain.
In sharing
your aloneness,
I am alone
again.

December 26, 1983

Loving the eagle,
glorying in his flight,
in his beauty,
in his eagle-ness,
could I
throw a rope
around his neck
and pull him
from the sky?
Tie him to earth
with love untrue
where, fettered and tame,
and with his spirit lame,
he would not not any longer
be the eagle
I once knew?
Fly, eagle, fly,
free and beautiful and high.
Set your spirit free,
be all that you can be,
for my love wants to lift you
up so high
that you find all the beauty
in the sky.
Eagle,
I love your beauty now,
appreciate the being
that you are,
and all I know
is Love is not the captor
of our hearts -
only our own fear
of letting go.

March 14, 1984

Your interpretation
was so far
from my intention.
All the times
I put my arms
around you
you thought I was
asking something of you,
while I thought I was
giving.
I'm stunned
you did not see:
it was for you
I always loved you,
not for me.

[In September my kids and I moved out. Soon he was driving past my house laughing with someone new. But this September day in 1986, I found myself stopping by his house and worldlessly he took my hand and led me to his room. I wrote this poem, perhaps hoping we would start up once again. But we never did. He never called, he was never one to initiate and after all that had happened, he would have needed to this time.]

Brother Dreamer,
we've traveled far
to get to where we are.
How much further
we have yet to go
it is good we
do not know.
But I trust
the universe
is taking me
where I'm
supposed to flow.
And am set free
to accept
such offerings
as sky and trees
and a sheltered
rainy day
within your arms,
knowing there'll be
no harm.
Sweet Dreamer,
as always
when I look at you,
your beauty shines.
Life has been kind
that I can count you
as a special friend
of mine.

[I spoke to him on the phone the summer of '89 when Jeff was so ill. His daughter Lorill went to visit Jeff. In our conversation he asked me how I liked Tofino and I told him how ecstatic I was there, that it was like one big coffeehouse. He was happy for me. He told me he had bought himself the Harley he had always wanted, suggested he might take it on the road and come and see me. But he never did. So it was unexpected when he phoned me on Christmas Eve, 1991. My house was full of kids and we were about to make the trip to Qualicum to spend Christmas with my mom at my sister's house. Eric told me he was in Vancouver, at his father's. As always he didnt say what perhaps he was hoping and without the words, I couldnt presume or guess. But I imagine, now, being that close to the Island, he might have been hoping I'd come to him or invite him to come to me. As always, I was hampered by family and not free. We spoke for a few moments, I hung up confused. What had he wanted? Why couldnt he say the words?

Sigh. Always missed connections. It was so rare for him to reach out. And of course it had to be a moment when I was up to my eyeballs in obligations.

December 24, 1991

Eagle brother,
your eyess have always
pierced me through
to the secret place
only you knew.
There was
something
in your glance
that drew me
straight to you.
Fellow dreamer,
weary traveler,
in a world
of happiness
elusive,
where finally
it is only
found within,
we once shared
closeness
and a comfort
that I only knew
with you.
For you alone
was my love
deep and true.
I walked on -
your pain
too great
to allow me
to stay,
my love too deep
to be able to say -
yet the sound of your voice
on the phone
makes the years
fall away,
and suddenly
it is
eight years ago
once more.

[This last poem I actually mailed to him and I think he may have received it. No answer of course. Later I heard he had moved to the Kootenays, long his dream. His daughters both came looking for me in their young womanhood to thank me for being an influence on them back when. I asked his older daughter to ask him if I mighrt email him. He gave his standard answer: let the past be the past, no looking back. But I have always looked back. He was my one love. He always told me "No easy answers". But I didnt want an easy answer. I just wanted AN answer.]

July 13, 1997

These days
I often find
my thoughts
returning
to dusty mesas
dotted with dry scrub
along the arroyo
through dry, sandy gorges
you once told me
was a river
long ago

In reverie
I circle
sleepy rooftops
finding yours
where we made love
one afternoon
your face
so dark and beautiful
above me
those summer days
that ended
way too soon

Those days
you were an eagle
soaring / captive
caught somewhere
between the earth
and sky
while I caught my breath
and emptied out
my being
into the wonder
of becoming
you and I

Now my spirit
sometimes walks
on summer mornings
-dew-fresh scent of tall marsh grasses,
willow trees,
fresh lake ripples
lapping gently
on the shore-
the scent of
all the mornings
I remember
and I long to walk
beside the lake
once more

In memory you turn
your slow smile on me
always a bird
alighting
on your hand
I hear again the coo
of doves at daybreak
and somewhere -
another time, another land -
"Blackbird" is singing
in the dark of night
while two lonely seekers
try to hold their pain
at bay
by clinging to each other
way too tight
unable to find words
to make it right
and somehow lost their way

The dove lost its mate
and flew
but keeps on
circling
circling back to you
never very far
from where you are
if you but knew

Through all those years
I saw your beauty plain
and now I am
remembering
remembering
again

The single step
that started
my long journey
the thousand miles it took
to bring me home
all I was searching for
I found within me
forever now
without the need
to roam

I have one more hug
to give you
in this lifetime
one more time to see
the smile start
in your eyes
if we never meet again
know I have loved you
as no other
all the seasons
of our lives

Time to introduce the Children!

It finally occurred to me there are a lot of DOGS on my site, and no humans. So I thought it might be time to introduce some of the people in my life. This is my sister, Lori, and her horse Beau. When Lori isnt working or mowing the lawn, she is attending horse events, like cattle penning, which she and Beau are pretty good at, or various Back Country Horsemen events. Lori lives right across the street from me, so we help each other out with all the critters, the non-human ones that is.

This is The Big Four, above, from left to right my son Jeff, daughter Lisa,

younger daughter Stephanie, and big brother Jon. A good looking crew, if I do say so.

This is the beautiful Zenny, brother Jon's wife, the sweetest girl in the world.

The whole family adores her.

Granddaughter Ali and her son, Damian,
now four whole years old.

Grandsons Caleb and Josh
I called Caleb Mr Sunshine when he was little -
His smile is temporarily unavailable - they call it

adolescence :)

the grandsons, Tyler on the right,

looking way cool,
and the beautiful Emma,

Josh's girlfriend

Great-Grandma Sherry and Damian
at the lake
How did being a great-grandma happen
so fast? And Lisa has got to be the
youngest most beautiful grandma ever!

That's the Clan! I did it! And not one dog in sight, hee hee!

SONG OF THE RIVER

The Narrows, Stamp Falls

March 30, 2002

Song of the river wild,
Song of the rapids leaping
Through the chiseled rock-walled chasm
Green with weeping,
A plunging torrent
To the ocean seeping

Song of the sea-green foam
Song of the white froth dancing
Sun-dappled baby wave-tops prancing
In the sunshine, all my dreams
Romancing.

Song of the green rock wall,
A vessel for the river's journey,
Guiding the flow along the channel churning
To the ocean and as it's
Returning.

Song of the tall green trees
Rootbound and stoic in the deep crevasses
Rooted in bedrock holding up the mountain,
Sentinels for every year
that passes

Song of the laughing brook
Below the rapids green, swirling and babbling
Huge salmon leap,
Fall back in shallows dabbling,
Plunge forth to lunge again,
Leaping and scrabbling

Song of the river wild,
You sing my tattered soul a new song,
Bless the silver beauty of this new day,
Make me know the path I'm on
Is not wrong.

Song of the seasoned soul
That knows the underlying message
Of the river:
Flow with me,
Not against me as we journey;
Travel lightly,
Not a taker,
But a giver.

LOVER OF THE SKY

January 31, 2002

I am a lover of the blue sky.
Perfect clouds
like a dream sail by;
of a green walk in the wild wood;
of tall trees dripping on me
where I stood;
of mist rising up
where the river bends;
of the small sweet song
of a striped-headed wren.

I am a lover of the burning flame
lit for world peace
in hearts the same.
I am a lover of the morning sun,
already radiant
the day begun.
I am a lover of the whale, leaping,
of the blue, blue hills
in the sunset sleeping.
I am a lover
of the eagle's cry,
who sweeps and soars
without a Why.
I am a lover
of life alone,
of the heart's peace
when it's at home.

I am a lover
of my old dog's smile,
of his warm brown eyes,
of his lack of guile.

I am a lover of the warm spring rain,
of the smell of earth stirring
to life again.
I am a lover of the ocean's roar,
of the sandy beach
stretching all before.
I am a lover of rock and log,
of driftwood shapes
looming through the fog.
I am a lover of clouds, of stars,
of the falling dark,
of soft guitars,
of the meadowlark,
of the summer breeze,
of days of struggle,
days of ease,
of heartfelt love
gone away too soon,
of goodbyes
under a slice of moon.

I am a lover
of fresh-cut grass,
of children's laughter,
of dogs I pass,
of babies all
innocence and rapture,
of the bent and aged
who tremble after,
of the falling leaves,
of a job well done,
and I am a lover
of beasts that run,
of water that moves
and creates its own way,
of the journey made
and the price I pay.

I am a lover
of brand new books,
those journeys that
I never took.
I am a lover of music that sings
songs of the heart,
the hope it brings,
and the flight of poems
for a brand new dawn
that knows this life
is Moving On.

Like the heron, stalk-still
at the water's edge,
makes a sudden leap
I am the same.
Poised to dive
from a tilting ledge,
the horizon lit
with a golden flame,
I'm waiting
to hear
Someone
call my name.

SKY FULL OF RAINBOWS

(thoughts while walking the dog, looking up from my worries

to see more than one rainbow in the sky - glorious!)

January 25, 2006

When you are hanging onto

the very last edge

of the edge

of the skinniest branch

and you feel your grasp slipping,

look up!

There's a sky full of rainbows,

row upon row of them,

shining up there,

to tell you that

all will be well

all will be well

all will be exceedingly well.

God's in His heaven

in the so clear air,

and all will be

exceedingly well.

When the grayest of rain clouds

has just dumped its deluge

upon you,

and you are mopping your eyes

and wringing out your hair,

look quickly!

You just might glimpse

the shine of angel wings

hovering there,

at the very edge of

your peripheral vision,

to encourage you and I

that, on the other side

of this trauma

or sadness or challenge,

the radiant dawn

of a brand new day

lies somewhere

waiting,

just waiting

to break across your

morning sky.

When you have reached

the very limit

of what you feel you can

or should

withstand,

when the stress has

weighed you down so far,

you're not sure exactly

how you will

pull through,

go out to where the water

meets

the mountain.

See the waterfall

tumble down its slopes

for you.

Watch the eagle

lift out of the mist

into the shrouded skies.

Take a deep breath

and believe,

just like the eagle,

your spirit, too,

your spirit once more

will rise.

SONG OF THE MOUNTAINS

Clayoquot Sound, photo through Friends of Clayoquot Sound

[This poem was written as I ferried down the Inside Passage from the north, where I had wintered, (hibernated!), back home to my beloved Tofino. Joy accompanied me, every inch of the journey.]


Song of the green, green hills,
Song of the porpoise leaping,
Ice-pack down the mountain seeping
A sudden torrent, like a giant weeping;
Prayer of the silent earth,
Deep within, where the springtime's stirring,
Gratitude into my heart creeping -
My spirit waking, which had long been sleeping.

I'm alive as the waterfall,
Cascading downward, like a fountain.
Its living waters carve an ageless path -
Eternity upon the velvet mountain.

Song of the evening sky,
Soft colors fading, end-of-day to starshine,
Each star a promise of a new tomorrow,
Song of the hopeful heart that is mine.

Surge of the sea-green foam,
Sound of the mountains singing,
Joy within me ringing,
Thrum of the motor bringing me,
Lift of my heart winging me,
Song of the mountains singing me
All the way home.

FLAWLESS MAGICIAN

july 14, 2002

twenty thousand

four hundred and fifty days

upon this earth

have I

gazed up in unceasing wonder

at the

fascinating

Sky,

each morning opening

my eyes upon

a brand new canvas

lit up by the dawn,

ready for

brush strokes

by a Master Artist's hand,

in hourly transformations

bright and clear

across the land.

I look away, look back,

and all has changed.

Unseen, the canvas

has been

re-arranged,

like a flawless magician

whose magic is

too pure to understand,

our eyes drink in

the beauty

and applaud

the sleight of hand.

No two canvasses alike,

each one supremely

unflawed,

an ever-changing masterpiece

created there

by God.

IN THE PRESENCE OF THE SACRED

July 20, 1999
[This was written as a Tofino writers' group exercise: what kind of tree would you be, if you were a tree? I chose the Hanging Garden Tree, on the Tall Tree Trail on Meares Island. Many life forms grow upon its branches. As a single mother of four, grandmother of four, I could relate to this tree:) The title could be a response to Jerry Mander's In the Absence of the Sacred. The air in that forest was more holy than any cathedral.]

I am Hanging Garden Tree,
my thick trunk hosting
an abundance of life forms,
diverse and vital;
garlanded with root and vine,
with fern and flower,
a universe
within my leafy bower.

I am home to Sky Creatures,
all the winged ones,
Owl and skyhawk,
Murrulet and swallow;
small furry-pawed ones
dart among my branches
and nestle soft within my sleepy hollows.

A thousand fern fronds
drape fringed shawls
along my shoulders,
soft moss, green lichen
and fat mushroom clinging,
climbing vine that wraps itself around me
and, in my hair,
a hundred sparrows, singing.

Myriad insect worlds
I tend and harbor.
I shelter bear and wolf,
am food for deer.
To all Two-Leggeds
who come before me, seeking,
I offer peace
within my
silent arbor.

Young Standing People
upon my branches grow.
They came through me,
nurtured the best I know.
Roots fattened
with the seasons
of my living,
they stretch beyond my reach now,
one by one,
as I support
their separate struggle
towards the sun.

In this the season
of my deep reflection
I'm tired now;
I have endured an age.
At dusk,
Sky Woman comes
serene and sage
to scatter stars
about my weary head,
while Sister Moon
sends me
such perfect dreams
I'm spirit-fed
and morning comes
too soon.

In this grove
we're in
the presence of the sacred:
feeling our shared breath,
tenancy of earth and sky,
interconnected
to all the Four Directions
by the Love
to which we all belong,
under the grace
of a Celestial Eye,
all singers
of a universal song.

Hymn of Praise

October 4, 2001

Wind whispers

through the canopy

like lake ripples

through the trees

Small leaves spiral

thick as raindrops,

pixies dancing

on the breeze

Sunlight consecrating trees -

almost I hear an organ sound:

I, pilgrim and acolyte,

the golden forest

hallowed ground

Birch bark like ancient manuscript

writ by a gnarled and pointy hand

tells tales of olden times long-gone,

bygone days upon the land

Once again, the breeze-song swells,

upon the wind a hymn of praise:

to these blessed simple days,

these days we have,

a hymn of praise.

*** *** *** ***

July 22, 1999

Graceful heron

swooping across

the evening sky

like a pteradactyl,

Prehistoric bird

perched on a treetop,

My heart swoops with you,

then stills,

standing by the silent pond,

waiting for the night to settle

around us both

softly as feathers.

*** *** *** ***

SONG OF THE FROGS

July 9, 1999

Song of the frogs

in the fading light

soft fade the hills

in the falling night

God touching earth

with a gentle might

and all is beauty

within my sight

soft falls the light

on garden walls

a rose-hued mountain

as day's curtain falls

a froggy symphony

serenades the night sky

and grateful, grateful, grateful

I.

*** *** *** *** ***

meditation on green

july 1, 2001

the color of life, of growth,

tall, spindly pine

draped in old man's beard

a thousand fern fronds

under whose umbrella

twin blooms

small as a baby's tears

peek pertly

jagged stump

covered in soft thick moss

framed by tall cedars

among whose lofty branches

songbirds flit

their trill echoing across

the sleepy forest

winding trails

through the silence

paths springy, living

underfoot

where we walk

heads thrown back

-alive!-

one with the ferns the fronds the trees

the height that teaches us to strive

the sky

a compass for

all our flighty dreams

clouds drifting by

one breath two breaths

leafy breath

and human sigh

birdsong

ringing through the silent

canopy

piercing me

through

with each piercing

I'm made new

becoming

becalming

forest floor alive

under our live feet

step so lightly

dont crush the mosses!

fairies drinking dewdrops

from the white bell-shaped blossoms

frogs in the skunk cabbage

yellow jonquils

line the deadened pond

the forest holds its breath

and waits

it waits

till we are

gone.

*** *** *** ***