Ten days passed since I had been to work, and since I had marched on that footpath…my shortcut to work. Today I walked through the bush on this cold sunny day, slipping on the icy patches mourning the dormant shrubs…all I could see now, were patches of brown leaves and branches hugging the snow surface. I did not take a photo of this new image. No, looking around at the huge change, I needed to mourn the life trampled on by heavy wet snow. Tomorrow will be another day…then, and only then, perhaps shall I photograph this newly treacherous footpath.
Last night we experience strong winds and in the middle of the night it kept me awake. Tossing and turning, my mind was composing a poem, so I decided to write a poem which I posted entitled “Awaiting dawn”.
intermittent flash signs of ill-health power lines crash eminent for sure if these gusts continue chorus of howls like military troops haunting yowls beyond depths of eternity blow blow blow wind blow keep me awake all night long visions of buildings crashing, floating, hiding for cover broken wail sounds blow, blow blow wind blow you’ve not won in destroying my home power’s still on I’m safe, I am warm then why do I fidget why can I not rest in the dead of this night blow blow blow wind blow the chorus has grown no longer wind sound but high giant waves like tsunami like moan blow blow blow wind blow fear not I stand guard awake thru the night fear not I stand guard ‘till the sun shows its face gold I shall wait for this dawn neither tired or cold I shall wait a bit longer eyes open, alert breathing slow , belaboured suppressing a yawn.
It is interesting how strong winds seem more frightening in the night and yet in the day would it not be more dangerous? I remember walking to bus some mornings on wind days and I felt pushed forward…and I am not a skinny person! I hate to see young children waiting for a bus how scary that might be or crossing a busy intersection…yikes!
In any event, I wrote this poem not really thinking the wind would die down but I knew at the break of day I would not be so frightened. At six am. I took my shower, while coffee was brewing and had not thought of the wind for I was preparing for appointments today.
Sitting down to check my email, I noticed the only sound I could hear were the cars on the boulevard in front of my apartment driving towards the bridge to get to work. I am including two haiku to complete last night. I think the second one is better but the first was my first thought…what do you think?
I read this quote while visiting a new blog at Moon over Spumoni. It spoke to me. Quotes do that to us, don’t they. You may have heard countless quotes, proverbs, prayers or poetry most of your life and then, for the second or thousandth time you read it and it actually draws you in.
Imagination is the true magic carpet…indeed! Like the caring doctor at Cedar House Rules, read bedtime stories to the children at the orphanage, bedtime snack feeding dreams on their magic carpet.
Can you imagine not being able to drift off to dream land when you were a child? What if you were going through a difficult time in your life? You are perhaps grieving the loss of dear pet and you are too young to grasp the concept of “forever”. But you can imagine times you played with that pet, hugged him, shared your deepest secrets with him. Perhaps it is the loss of friend or relative…be it through death or a long long absence, the lack of his or her presence is heartfelt. Nothing can fill the void…that darn emptiness can never be replaced BUT in time it will be healed by filling it with those memories you can imagine anytime you want and room for more amazing memories to bless your heart and your soul with joy.
Imagination is like nourishment…no medicine healing moments of despair. I see imagination synonymous to hope because it enables one to feel there is always hope. Have you ever had a dream for a very long time? Have you ever had a dream realized to some extent it felt like déjà-vu? Some will say, “Pinch me! I must be dreaming!” That is how I see imagination related to hope. What would life be like without hope? Without hope there is no faith, so little room for trust…
A hungry baby cries in the night and is nursed, however, unanswered cries in the night, a child no longer tries.
Imagination are not only the making of fairy tales but the remedy for the disheartened.
It is 22:35 and the building is quiet. Most folks are getting ready for bed for an early rise, children are sleeping and the only sound I hear is the muffled roar of snow plows. It is almost a humming sound to me. Last year I remember referring these melodies as my winter lullaby. These huge impressive machines usually run in the middle of the night when only nighthawks like me are up, night-shift workers, or mothers nursing their baby.
To me it is a symphony of sorts for nighthawks. The scraping of the huge metal plow booms onto the snow covered pavement drumming and shaking the earth; the motor roars and hums pleasantly putting me in a mellow mood…feeling safe and comforted in the wee hours of the night.
When I was very young before I even went to school, I remember making a space in my bed for my guardian angel. I just believed there was someone special because my mother told me so. Those were years when it was quite turbulent at home with my father when he was inebriated. I believe moving over in bed to keep that space available for my angel made me feel safe.
When I was six my GrandPapa died. I have spoken many times about my maternal grandfather. I was living with him the year he was dying. After he died, I never made room in my bed for my guardian angel for I always believed GrandPapa was always with me. I would cram for exams at the last minute too many times and just before the test, I would ask my grandfather to help me remember the answers. All through elementary school, I would close my eyes at difficult questions and see the spot on the page in my science , history or geography book…I believed GrandPapa sent me cheat sheets because so many times I did not study enough in those earlier years.
When there was thunder and lightening, I was always very scared. GrandMaman would be so calm and look out the window at the lightening. She would comfort me by telling me that GrandPapa was bowling up in heaven and that was the sound of the thunder. He was playing for money, she said, which he would send her. Perhaps she was trying to explain that her widow’s pension came from him.
I have a fan club up in heaven now, with many other relatives. But I always feel my grandfather is looking out for me and still pray or chant visualizing the face of my grandfather.
child in the night felt a nudge and made room, guardian angel
snow kissed cheek wind whispers his presence guardian angel
message from heaven first snow covers the ground guardian angel
“I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!” ~ Jane Austen (Pride & Prejudice)
Reading a book is like meeting a new friend. Getting acquainted with their family and friends. Once immersed into a novel, I often get lost in “their world”. Such an escapism for me is rewarding and therapeutic. It is my brief vacation in another world allowing my mind, heart and soul to detach from realities of life. Every break, every free moment, long bus and metro rides, I get to meet up with my new friend of the week. Waiting in a line at the grocery store or department store, I pull out my book. I forget myself so much that I chuckle out loud or weep.
If I am on the last chapter and either on the bus or at a café, I will put the book down and wait to savour that last chapter quietly at home. I turn each page slowly, reading even slower, because I am saying goodbye to a friend. Putting down the book, I rewind and fast forward images and memories of my friend’s story before finally saying goodbye.
lost in letters forming new friends enchanted am I
savouring precious last words the last chapter
melancholy tides, turning the last page whispering farewell
My childhood friend used to collect her eggshells starting in March up to May. She would crunch them into tiny pieces and put them in her flower beds to prevent snails from crawling in her garden. If they crawled too quickly (I doubt there’s a chance of that) or not cautiously, the eggshells would cut them. Ouch!! Poor little critters. Before you start feeling all sad about this, I just discovered they enjoy eating the eggshells, it is filled with calcium just perfect for their shells, like the photo above. I wonder if my friend knew that part.
crawling gingerly eggshells in flower beds snail’s obstacle course
gourmet nutrient eggshells in flower pot snail munchies
Years ago I was a teacher’s assistant for a university course. It was a six credit, 2 semester course and one of the most challenging courses that was also a pre-requisite to stay in the programme. It was not difficult due to the academia and theories…the self-discovery and soul searching were the toughest challenges. I really enjoyed working with this professor. He had such a rich experience, having completed two masters in Thailand where he met his wife. He asked each student to purchase 3 balls. At the beginning of each class we spent ten minutes “trying” to juggle while the professor and I were taking attendance. I had to juggle too and times I missed it at school, I tried it at home. After Christmas, we were getting better and now we had to pair up with another person to juggle in pairs. The purpose of the exercise, which he told us only on the last day of classes, was to try something different, to excel outside our comfort level, to be able to laugh at ourselves, make mistakes and see that it will not destroy us. Lots of things we learned and more.
Juggling with too many things in life is another expression we use when referring to juggling. Doing too many things at the same time; unorganized, some will say if we juggle too many things. Interestingly in the true skill of juggling, you must be organized otherwise the items you juggle will fall. You have to keep your eyes open, move up to a rhythm to increase speed all by paying close attention to the task at hand. So, actually, when we say you are juggling too many things at the same time, I find we really mean you took on too much…took on more than what we bargained for, etc.
My haiku starts out thinking of my juggling experience and then I added a few thinking of my grandmother, my mother, my daughter and myself…in life in general…raising a family, working, caring for family, sports, volunteering, car pooling, studying and the list goes on. Thank goodness I did not raise my family during the age of the internet…I would have never gotten anything done…(chuckles) I would have added writing and writing poetry.
The photo below shows a street performer at Montreal’s Old Port specially at Place Jacques Cartier where cobblestone streets are lined with shops, terraces, cafés and restaurants. It is a huge tourist attraction spring, summer and fall.
I came across this cute video and since I love Pharrell Williams…well, it makes me “happy” to share this (grins) Now tell me you were NOT tapping your foot, bobbing your head and swaying those hips after hearing this and I won’t believe you:)
Tournesol dans un Jardin 
