December 23rd, the temperatures rose over 10 degrees Celsius. It was springtime weather at the end of December. Two days of rain cleaned the streets, sullied snow banks and melted most of the snow. Makes it doubly hard for half-doubters..one of my three grandsons… to still believe but painstaking stories, Crosby’s songs and want-to-believe children makes it still happen…one more year.
grey puddles
born from melted snow
earth’s enigma
~
White Christmas
fairy-tales echo
crooner’s refrain
Vincent van Gogh said about this painting :
"... it does me good to do what’s difficult. That doesn’t stop me having a tremendous need for, shall I say the word — for religion — so I go outside at night to paint the stars"
I remember first time I skated with my mother and sister. Mom and my sister were so darn adept on their skates…they could actually stand up witout wobbling! I must have been about four wearing dark brown leather skates that folded at the ankle, so my body rested on the leather rather than those blades. But my mother was so patient with me…chubby me, clumsy as could be…no side boards to hand on to …just low snow banks after they had shoveled a personal skating rink just for us on the river behind GrandMaman’s house. I must have been wearing my older cousin’s skates…boy’s skates to boot!
I later managed to stand up on better skates but wobbly I was. One night when I was about 12 the river was cleared of snow and my uncle wanted to go out skating with his girlfriend…well! I decided to tag along this romantic venture…but I did stay back several feet…it was a full moon, we skated across the river…whoosh…scratch…whoosh, whoosh…the moon was so bright we could even skate to the little inlets…I was a bit worried the ice may not be as thick but still felt safe following my uncle…my hero. What a guy to let his niece tag along on this magical evening. I will never forget that night…whoosh, whoosh…scratch…whoosh, whoosh…wind blowing softly on my face.
children giggling
wobbling on the ice
river holds
hands clasped
lovers glide on the river
under a full moon
whoosh whoosh
blades scratch the river floor
frozen in time.
Solitude may not always mean sadness, it is simply being alone. Many times it is by choice. It is interesting that loneliness, isolation, seclusion and privacy are synonyms found for solitude. I suppose if it is not by choice it can be painful and lonely. However, if it is by choice, it is almost a refuge, a place to breath, collect one’s thoughts…create, compose. Perhaps when we know of someone who is living alone, we could ask if they feel lonely and not assume all persons living alone are unhappy. I love people; I am a very social person and love to laugh and enjoy the company of friends and my children. I also love my “alone” time where I can hear myself think. The silence sometimes screams …those are often my thoughts waiting to be put “on paper”.
Since the passing of my mom, I don’t feel the same aloneness I felt leaving work, walking with a heavy step after a shift…I feel a presence, a shadow that quickens my step, removes a load off my shoulder…I feel blessed…in her grace…shadow of her love.
Walking home
under the umbrella
skies weep
skies weep
souls scream shedding despair
bleeding,
I no longer walk alone
her shadow comforts me.
shadow comforts me
arriving home alone
my cat purrs
my cat purrs
lingers by my laptop,
hushed whispers
hushed whispers
I’m here if you need me
no longer alone.
I took another long route to work today. After a snow storm, I love to see the trees covered with thick snow, many streets only one side is plowed. This reminds me when I drove to work at 6pm. I had to move my car to the other side so the snow plow could clear the street. There was usually always a warning, a truck drives up ahead with flashing lights and honks to warn a few drivers to move their vehicle, otherwise they get a hefty ticket.
Today I was in awe at the parks and the trees. Of course I felt sorry for the cyclists because we have many avid winter cyclists who often have trouble finding their bike in the huge snow banks the snow plows created. Today it was wet heavy snow and the streets were slushy. My feet were soaken wet…guess my boots are not as waterproof as I thought.
A young teen called once to say he wanted to take his life. Let’s call him Real. He had seen too much sadness in his short years…abuse, death of a close friend and the pain weighed too heavily on him. I knew he was calling from the far North and asked him if he often saw Aurora Borealis. “Why yes,” he quickly responded, “It is my ancestors telling me they are safe and happy in their world. I am going to join them now.”
I asked him if his ancestors might also be asking him if he still had things to do on this land before travelling beyond to meet them. He paused a long moment…he later accepted to go to emergency and get help.
I can never forget this youth for he phoned our service four days later to thank me, and that he was in hospital getting the care he needed.
multi-hues whispering from beyond a life of grace
ancestors travelling on tinted vapours call of serenity.
Tournesol dans un Jardin 
