If I were a river......

If I were a river, I would sing the sun up every morning. I would dance with delight over rock and chasm, plunge down in cascading waterfalls, then widen, spreading out between the swollen banks, slowing my pace towards noon to swirl placidly, catch my breath in quieter shallows,  I, lost in reverie.

If I were a river, I'd burble and babble and bubble in baby brooks, poke stubby fingers into soft mudbanks, investigating all the secret hollows. I'd sing lustily in mid-afternoon, picking up speed, leaping over boulder and chasm, my voice like the roar of huge engines, like a plane flying low. Later, towards evening, I'd smooth and soften, silky and rippling, inviting toes to dabble.

If I were a river, I'd reflect the moon's midnight smile. Stars would wink at me and I'd wink back, the night our shared secret, while all the humans slept and missed the magic.

If I were a river, I'd begin in the mountains, tumbling down its sides, trickle to torrent, leaping crevasses, gathering force then hurtling over ledges, plunging downwards in waterfalls that merge at the riverbed and, with one intent, swirl slowly, spreading wide, wider, little tributaries venturing off and back, rejoining the common flow, the great push surging to the sea.

When I got there, with a joyous rush I'd know that I was at both the end and the beginning of my journey. Gratefully, I'd sink myself deep into the sand, just waiting for the tide to swoop in and carry me off home.

The Black Dog of Grief

Well, kids, I knew that this time of year the river at Stamp Falls would be raging, and I thought to go and take some pictures to show you. It felt a little incongruous to be doing such a thing, while the Middle East is going up like a tinder box, and Japan - along with the rest of us - skirts the edge of nuclear catastrophe. Also it was the first time going there without Pup, first time since his death in January.

For the last eleven of his fourteen years, this was our favorite local outing. When we missed the beach too much, it was the wildest spot we could find here, and we went often, the two of us,

in perfect harmony.

Pup was my companion through our happiest wilderness days in Tofino. He embodied the wild for me, and it is there that I miss him most of all. I reflect on the people who have lost their loved ones and their whole world, this past week. Some of my grief today is for our woefully suffering planet. But I admit my tears and wolf howls this afternoon were all for him.

Since Jasmine's surgery in November, she has been unable to go more than half a block from home. So it was the black dog of grief who walked with me today, my first time alone

along the river.

Dancing river,

wild and free,

it is hard

to see your beauty,

when he is gone.

But I still need

your wildness

to survive,

and so I must

continue to

walk on.

Roaring river,take my

low, keening

wolf howls

and some tears,

for now the

black dog of grief

has come

to stalk

my years. 

Singing river,

carry my howls

of love and loss

to him

like a prayer,

and

bring back

his answer

to me

on the

evening air.

The River Beneath the River

I'm listening to

the river

beneath

the river.

I'm looking at

the sky

behind the sky.

I'm dreaming of

galaxy

beyond galaxy,

and all the stars

and planets

spinning by.

I'm thinking about

six billion

lonely lifetimes,

each one so small,

yet connected to

The All.

In our brief time

traveling through

earth's history,

we catch only

a fleeting glimpse

of a mystery
that enthralls.

January Skies

[image from flickr.com]
Posted for the Poets United Thursday Think Tank prompt: Observation

The January skies
are weeping
grayness
all over the valley,
sheets of gray
streaming down,
a gray mist rising up
from the meadows,
meeting in
a bowl of gray
with no horizon.

There is no sky
today,
just lowering
wetness,
falling on roofs
and cars
and horses
and steaming up
every window.

The river is swollen
to bursting,
fat with
fish and raindrops,
and lipping
the topmost bank,
almost spilling over.

There is no other color
to be seen,
except for
misty green
of the dark
dripping trees,
and a handful
of cheerful rosehips
on bare winter twigs
by the roadside.

The Gifts of the Day

A river off of Great Central Lake, a few miles out of town.
A number of houseboats are moored on the lake - I always wish I lived in one!

My boy, happy when he gets to swim

Today, after some angst about Mother Earth, I had one of those full rich days when one cant feel anything but extraordinarily fortunate. I took the doggies for a swim to one of my favorite places, given it is not very developed (yet.)

Pup is showing his age this summer. He loves to swim, but each time, it is harder to get him back up the ramp and into the car - this time he fell flat on the ramp and simply lay there. It took treats , persuasion and will power to get him in......every time, I think: is this the last swim? But THIS day, he did get in, and was a happy boy. I took them home , cool and content.

ker-CHOO!

That's better!

Jasmine loves nothing better than going "swimmies" .

One last circle, then home.......Then I went into town to run some errands. Nothing but treats and delights! At the library I was thrilled to find Arundhati Roy's Listening To Grasshoppers: Field Notes on Democracy. This author wrote the most honest, powerful, searing and informative essay right after 9/11 called The Algebra of Infinite Justice. I cant wait to dive in, but first must finish Mornings In Jenin, the story of a Palestinian family. Also good. I also borrowed some world beat music, on the stereo right now.

At the market, they had fresh prawn Thai noodle bowls, droolingly delicious. I bought one for my supper, and one for my sister as well. It awaits, tantalizingly.

I picked up some groceries and treats for the three little voyagers I will be looking after tomorrow for the last time. I have been providing respite for them, a sibling group, since the oldest, now six, was three. The middle boy is now three and the baby just over a year. I love these kids and they love me. I have cared for them through quite a few changes in their young lives and after tomorrow, they will be going to their adoptive home, all three together. A forever family for these adorably cute, happy little travelers. I think the change is going to be hardest on the baby, who has only been in one home so far and believes the foster mom is her mother. But all we can do, those of us who give support to kids in crisis, is love them well while we have them, and then step back and hope and pray what happens next will be the best thing for them. In this case, a forever home, their best interests have to remain at the top of our minds. I will wait till they are gone to let myself understand it will be the last time. Baby steps:)

When I got home, I opened up my website to discover lovely messages from so many of you. I have to tell you, this is one of my biggest blessings these days, that I am not writing in a vacuum any more. Connecting with other like-minded writers, poets, seekers, dreamers, sharing thoughts and feelings, is something I have been needing and missing. Thank you to all of you for reading my words. I so enjoy hearing from you, visiting your sites, and reading your work in return. One of the best things that has happened to me recently was finding Poets United. Thank you, Robb Lloyd, for all the work you do to provide this meeting place!

Blessings abound. My heart feels very full this day. I am off to eat my Thai noodle bowl, with great enjoyment:) HA! and the movie rental shop just called : the movie I requested for my viewing pleasure tonight is IN!!!!! I am off - I tell you, nothing but blessings!

Sunset at the quay.....

This is our "other" quay in town, Victoria Quay, looking up along the Stamp River, to the sun going down behind the mountains, letting me know I am missing more spectacular West Coast sunsets, these long, late-summer evenings................Nice to see some color in the sky, at any rate, much as I long for the white sand, stretching all before, the lap of the waves tickling my feet, the smell of the air, so pungent and salty-sweet...........sigh. Must count my blessings, I know, I know:)

This is a view of my front yard, or part of it, as seen from my front porch. Lovely to have a wide stretch of green around me, not be cooped up cheek-by-jowl in the city somewhere. My sister's house is just across the street, nice and handy for popping back and forth. That's a potting bench on the right, being taken over by the ivy, and the wooden platform down below is usually planted with tubs of flowers, but I didnt get to it this year. It's just as well, it is too hot, 36 C here today, which must translate into TOO HOT Fahreinheit! Everything planted is withering anyway. Including my dogs, one of whom is the black lump by the front fence, inthe distance:)

Out back there is a steep hill down to a grassy area by the creek, also withered at this time of year but rushing wonderfully in winter, and part of the annual salmon migration. We have a resident bear who ambles up and down it, fishing, in season. The sound of rushing, living water does much to satisfy my soul. I have a bamboo fountain on my porch. We make do:)

Jeff, I should mention, has now completed his round of chemo, responding to it very well. He lost his hair but had very few side effects. He had a rather bearable time of it, compared to many, and we are grateful for that. The doctor, who is a marvellous human being, says he has done wonderfully and now can be maintained on one chemo session every three months for two years. Hopefully that will keep the lymphoma in check.

Mr. Dog, my elderly wolf companion, is having a hard time of it, between his thirteen year old hips giving out, a lame front leg, and the heat, trapped as he is in his thick wolfish fur. I took him for a swim at the lake the other night, for which he was joyously eager. He swam gratefully back and forth in dignified, elderly fashion, then did a half-roll in the grass for old times' sake.

But I had a time getting him up the ramp into the car after. He prefers to leap, and cant any longer. The will outstrips the body, tell me about it:) I need to ask the vet to be somewhat prepared, but cant seem to have that conversation for fear I will fall completely apart at saying the words out loud. I may have to write her a note.

It is wonderfully quiet here this evening, after a few days of providing respite to difficult kids so their mothers can survive another week upon the planet. How I love it when my space reverts to being my space again. Lovely long hours of quiet, the hum of the computer, the whirr of the fan.................it is so hot here the birds dont sing, they hide till evening or early morning, when the temperature becomes something that sustains life once again. Two hours or more to go, by my calculation.

Blessings to all beings everywhere. My thoughts are with those in Pakistan right now......

WILD SWANS

Stamp River
May 6, 2001

Have you ever seen a swan walking?
One morning, blessing the vicissitudes of a fitful spring,
a dozen swans were clustered
at the river's bend,
most in the water,
some few lumbering still
upon the bank,
furtive and embarrassed
at being thus unusually displayed
as an aging Beauty
caught in disarray.

Then, as if by an inner signal,
heads protuberant and seeking
purchase for their clumsy wide-webbed toes,
splayed precariously
upon the muddy bank,
over the edge each went,
heavy bodies dragged unwillingly behind,
each white bird
plunging, slipping down,
in a flapping-feathered flurry of distress,
the whole flock gliding off,
serene and graceful as a pleasant dream,
the way moments of sudden fleeting grace
fall on our heavy, so encumbered hearts,
transforming past and evolutionary pain
with sweet possibilities
again, and yet
again.

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.