CHURCH ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON

There's something holy about being in a room in the
Anglican church on a Saturday expressly to study poetry...it feels
sacred on so many levels, makes the words taste sweeter somehow.

FULL MOON RISING

It's supposed to be huge; bigger than the Super Bowl

that's all over the news, all over the TV, everywhere

you turn actually. All one can hear about is this biggest

moon ever that's supposed to wax full and rise tonight.

The sky is as clear as a newborn's skin and I've been

waiting impatiently to see it, but there must be some mistake. 

The stars are brilliant but there's no moon tonight...no Luna at all.

WHISPERS ON THE WIND

The wind is harsh tonight, filled with Arctic cold and polar iciness;

and when it howls full of gustiness and more winter to come, I hear

your voice, barely a whisper, in my ear, trying to tell me what it

was you needed me to know there near the end.

AUDREY'S BOOKS

The wind whips me wildly as I stumble from my car to the

store...It is lit up like Christmas even tho' it's just an ordinary

Tuesday night and I'm only going there to browse for books.The warmth I feel is fireplace-worthy at least.

IN THE EVENING

We settle in, content to be cozy in front of the fireplace,

letting the winds roar around the eaves, as we watch

television comforting in its familiarity.

SUNDAY MORNING CHILLS

Waking to Sol blasting bright as summer, I am fooled until

I crack the back door to let the dog out. In seconds, winter

blows into the kitchen with the force of the polar ice cap

reminding me, it's still January and winter's not even half over.

NOTHING TO FEAR

In the dimly lit room, manufactured shrieking is matched

by a tiny girl's terrified cries as her father tries to prod her

nearer the exhibit. It is gruesome in the extreme. Realistic

plant roots that, when grabbed and yanked, reveal a shrilly

screaming devil-baby extruding from the ground. Shuddering

I turn away, more upset by the parental performance and

the child's torture than anything I've seen on display.

PUG SITTING

They bounce into our house as if they own the place,
filled with attitude and curiosity and pure pugliciousness
—bundles of buffed ebony, tap-dancing nails, bulging chocolate-
drop eyes...and all of it set off with those ridiculously cute,
inquisitive faces; flat enough to bite a wall...

MURMURATION OF STARLINGS

Collective nouns fascinate me. I think there should be one for them, for collective nouns themselves but, I don't think there is...This week, all over the Internet, especially YouTube, Twitter, and FaceBook, and Vimeo:  everyone is fascinated by this short clip of two girls in a canoe who witness so many starlings flocked together over a lake, they block out the sky as they wheel and dip, in their seemingly choreographed movements. It is as if there are enough birds flying in concert at one time, their undulations cover the entire length and width of the lake for something like three minutes. I keep studying the configurations and realize the birds resemble pointillist painters' work, or delicate etch-a-sketch filings being tipped ever-so-gently this way, then that...always unpredictably and awe inspiring...and this many together? It's called a murmuration.

                                                                                                                                                            

THE BIG BOY BED

The earnestness in his wee voice is heart-breaking as he shows me

his new "big boy bed" and I can't help thinking, "you're only two."

At naptime, he tries to talk me into letting him sleep in the crib but

I know that's not a good idea;, the new baby is due in less than six

weeks.  I tell him how proud I am that he's sleeping in the new bed,

pile Douglas the dragon in with him -- a special treat, and his pink fish.

He eyes me bravely, blinks away tears, tells me solemnly, "It's okay,

I'm okay Grandma."

WIZARD WATCH

As promised, we set off for the Harry Potter exhibit; who knew
it would be lined around the block like that? You great with child
and me cantankerous with old, had little patience for standing,
waiting to get in for over two hours...especially as the day was
Alberta blue-sky gorgeous and temperate. We booked a time
to attend next week.

RAINBOWS

A good friend just gave me a myriad of rainbows

to enjoy everyday...They are really the most 

amazing things. First of all, they result because 

she gave me a tiny solar panel attached to 

something that looks like the mechanism in a

music-box, encased in clear and light plexi-glass. 

Then dangling from this on short chains are two 

hexagonal and many-faceted crystals...they look 

like Swarovski but, who knows?...The whole deal 

attaches to a window with a suction cup. When the 

sun hits the panel and heats it enough (which is just 

barely, by the way) it causes the mechanism to whir 

and that makes the crystals rotate...Voilá...rainbows bounce 

off my walls, and any other surface they glide over...It's magical!

DEATHS IN WINTER

What is it about having to grieve in winter? 

Maybe it's because all around is death; 

plant-life, trees, even the sky often appears 

inanimate in a way, unlike other seasons -- 

it isn't white so much as no-colour - and the snow,

fresh no longer, it seems dead as well.  

To then experience the loss of someone

you love; it's too much.

KEEPSAKES

Shave me some slices of petal-pink sky
to store in my soul 'til it's Spring. Snatch
me some bird-song, any will do...to
string for a necklace; to finger soft
when the wind howls cold...

GENUS

The baby boy is silhouetted against the sun setting; in the curve

of his cheek, the pucker of his lips, I see both the past and the future.

WIND GUSTS

Reportedly the highest winds ever recorded
blew in last night... as evidenced by the brittle-
branch willow's limbs strewn thickly over the yard;
self-pruning is one thing, this looks more like
Texas chain-saw massacre.

JANUARY SCENTS

You tell me, it's nothing. You tell me, it's easy.

But the house is redolent with scents of your

ease, your "thrown-together" winter stew, burbling

on low in the crock-pot all the colourless day long,

and it's made another dark January day bearable,it has.

WINTERING ON

Through the slanted light of late afternoon

the sky changes to the colour of dirty slip-covers and 

of a sudden, the air is thick with feathers. Closer examination 

reveals a blizzard is taking place, and a fierce one at that...

winter continues unabated.

GLOBES, GOLDEN, OR NOT

Tonight, as with most of the nights this week,

the Aurora is supposed to grace our sky with

her presence sometime around midnight, and

she is reputedly going to dance with magnificent

abandon, something she's been reluctant to do

around here for some time.  As I wait with unconvincing

patience, I distract myself with the plethora of celebrities

gracing my television as the yearly circus that leads off

the annual season of award shows, the Golden Globes plays out.

THROUGH THE ETHER

We don't speak for months, sometimes years on end;

but every time the connection re-knits as if we've never

been apart, and we're able to pick up where we left off.

Still, life --and death--talk their toll, and the pain in your

voice filled space last night as you talked about our friend,

"never sick a day in her life" now suddenly dying of an

inoperable something; symptomless save a pain behind

her eye that comes and goes...not expected to live out the winter.