I am here, I am in this forest, where luminance lingers long nearby, I fall asleep under the cedar tree Lengthy languorous slumber The tree branches caught cracking cuts into my peace like slices, into my mind like vices: Waiting, waiting for the sun to reach me.
Beware of digging into things you should not. It never turns out well; the revelation will be painful, though predictable, and scar the guts deeply.
Answer: find the path forward—boldly, with full feathers and song.
Nothing more rewarding
than the rumors of hope
by the wonder of a vast sea,
An escape here,
and we shall be astonished by the beauty,
In a mind where I cannot stay.
The rain falls outside on this last dim, soggy day of the year. I don’t want to make a list of the decade or anything else.
I’ll keep moving forward.
This is the time of year I love most (even if my allergies disagree).
The birdsong and frog song, the succession of blooming plants, the longer days, and the shifts between sunshine and rain.
I’m finishing up a project that I’ll be sad to leave. I love the characters, the setting, the story. I’m sure I’ll be doing future revisions and edits, shifting and changing, but for now, I’m going to move onto the next big thing.
These moments of shifting can feel good. “Hey, I finished a book!”
Yet, I can also feel unsure.
The possibility awaits: wonderful and scary; exciting and daunting; a dash forward and a long pause. All those contrasts hit me, freeze me.
I’m back to the act of creating again. The pen to the notebook–
shifting.
I’m not a big fan of winter. It isn’t a season where a lot of transition happens. Everything sleeps, and I am drowsy, despondent, stagnant.
This winter started out mellow. It wasn’t too cold, so I did my best to find beautiful things, especially as the year turned with a promise of early spring on the horizon.
Unfortunately, my nemesis–the winds from the Fraser Valley in Canada– hit the island in February. This cold system collided with storms. The mellow winter turned . . .
On Tuesday this week, I trudged outside. No one was out driving, so the normal quiet was even more silent.
Found the wonder of winter. The hush of snow. The transformed landscape . . .
Outside, the slow thaw drips and slushes. The forecast doesn’t exactly call for spring again, but there are signs.
I stand near the wetlands
Just behind me
A red-winged blackbird clings to some dead plant
Calling over and over and over again
Not caring anything about winter.
Hiking in Canada.
Near the Columbia River
Yoho River
Takakkaw Falls
I’ve been doing some hiking lately. This is something I like to do this time of year, especially when I find the lesser known trails at odd times of the day.
A field of ferns.
Looking down at Crow Valley from Turtleback Mountain.
This is the time of year when all the magic happens . . .
The cherry tree blooms,
The tulips open,
and everything is glorious.
Yes, this time of year.
I’ve been stealing out in the early morning to empty mountain trails.
Near Ship Peak on Turtleback Mountain.
Michèle Griskey 