Celebrating every little gift, every single day.

Friday, 20 June 2014

A Small Life



I lead a small life,
unremarkable,
mundane
some would say,
and yet,
within it's confines,
each and every day,
a thousand miracles
come my way.











Friday, 6 June 2014

The Month of Roses

June
is the month of roses here,
when all the landscape 
gives way
to romance.

In the last weeks of May
every wild roadside,
every field's fence line
is tangled 
with wild rose


and honeysuckle,



their scent sweetening the air
and whispering
"June is coming!"

June's first days 
bring a blooming.

Every garden,
whether ordered and perfect
or tangled and cottage-y
boasts at least
a rose 
or two.

From bowered climbers
to tiny floribundas
clustered sweetly together,


From perfect 
tea roses


to blousy, 
perfume-y, 
old-fashioned darlings,


From sleek elegance


to girly ruffles,


they reach,
with sweet scents
and thorny fingers
and draw us in
with reminders 

of summer,



of romance,



of beauty,



of love.




Friday, 23 May 2014

Daisies by the Roadside


When I was a child,
not so ruled by clocks and calendars
the first white daisies on the roadside
said summertime to me.

I picked those daisies by the armful.

Mom smiled and thanked me for the gift
despite the bugs who came along for the ride.

I put them in jars of coloured water,
and watched, fascinated,
as they drank deeply and changed before my eyes.

Daisy chains sufficient to circle the globe
were woven beneath cloud-drift, sunlit skies.

There were other things too:

Wild roses twined with honeysuckle
grazed by does through wire fences,
wobbly-legged fawns with dappled white coats
hidden in the shade nearby,

Birds singing in the dark an hour before sunrise,
and bats taking wing in evening skies,

Mild morning air
making bare-legged bike rides
for the first time not a punishment,

But,

then and still,

white daisies by the roadside
say summertime to me.


Friday, 25 April 2014

Quiet Pleasures

Spring often wakes late here
- sleeping through her alarm clock -
then jumps out of bed
and,
drawing her brightly coloured shawl around her,
runs out the door
strewing blossoms all around
in glorious disarray.

So enchanted are we
by her blousy blossoms,


her bright tulips,



her sweet pansies,
and forget-me-nots,



that we sometimes overlook
the quiet aspects of her charm

but,

while she is rushing by,

tender ferns are unfurling
in the darkling wood.



Tiny creatures are exploring.



Shy fawn lilies 
are hiding
under maple trees



who are, 
in their turn, 
hiding blooms
among the sweet tender-green
 of new leaves.



Even the streams are blessed
with the transient jewelry
of blossom confetti,
strewn upon their waters.




Hush.
They are waiting.

Sunday, 2 March 2014

White on White

Snow falls but rarely here,
and when it does,
strangers
stop each other on the street
to lament its inconvenience.

But I am grateful 


for the beauty
of white on white,


for still church yards,
undisturbed
by passers-by,


for country views
as quiet
as a whisper,


for wild rose hips
wearing winter caps,


for strong arbutus trees
raising rust-hued branches
toward the snow-greyed skies,


 and for yellow-ochre willow twigs
shouting defiantly
that Spring is on the way.

So brief,
these still, white moments,
so transient,
so sweet.
I am grateful

for each and every one.

Wednesday, 30 October 2013

October

November is about to chase 
October from the stage
but, 
just now,
she holds her place, 


clutching hard
both to the gifts of summer, 


and her memories of spring.


All the while
her robes change colour 


and her glories fall at her feet.


Sweet October,
in nature as in life,
a transient glory,


but all the more precious
for her fragile beauty 


and her memories.



Tuesday, 23 July 2013

Trails and Trees

Sometimes it seems that life presents
an impenetrable barrier to me;
all the world standing,
arms akimbo,
blocking my way,
beautiful,
implacable,
and not a little frightening


but if I look long enough
I eventually see
a path through the forest
beckoning to me.


At first it seems 
both wide and welcoming
winding gently,
lit by sunlight,
and cooled by dappled shade


but then
the way grows more difficult,


and barriers appear


and even nature
seems to wind upon itself;
twisting, twisting,
ever-changing.


I fear I've lost my way.

In that moment

- just when I feel most lost -

I see blue sky before me.


It is at first
just a suggestion of light,
but still enough
to keep me going
until I find my way,


arriving at my destination
and,
beautiful as it is,
glorious in light and magnitude,


I know 
I would not appreciate it
half so much
had I not
got lost along the way.