Not so much writing this fall. It was full of doing.
Sailing through the holidays, through the dark, to the New Year.
As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean. – CP Cavafy
We are here.
was both too fast
and too slow.
Car travel still being
fast enough to leave you
a little unsettled
at the ever later
setting of the sun
but too slow
to by-pass the occasional tedium
of 4500 kilometers in a van.
We passed over
and walked by
a Sleeping Giant
clothed in Boreal trees.
Hit the Prairies flying
and stopped for Pelicans
and other birds in salty locales.
The Mountains were the stars
despite the heat and haze of smoke.
Well, stars until we found the Ocean again.
Still smells like home.
I’ve been listening to this often:
I’ve set the rain
to be cold and hard
I’ve set the sun to
be bright and sharp
To wake you up
from your hollow dream
I’ll shake your bed
with a thunder strike
from my handLet’s come all steal
we will lie and cheat
and turn around
all their limit signs
and redirect this
this great old boring road
into the depths
of a lion’s mouthJust to see
if there’s something we believe.…
After a year without a decent camera, the resident photographer is back in action ! Colours of a southern Ontario winter:
Sebastien at Leslie Spit, Toronto Ontario.
It’s still hot – and DRY ! I feel like I’ve spent all Summer watering the garden. It will be cold soon enough though, and we’ll be glad of the “stored heat” in all the things gathered and squirrelled away. I dug horseradish root on the weekend and added that to the already harvested cayenne, garlic and onions as a base for fire cider. Fresh ginger and turmeric made it in too, along with a few herbs that called out to me: rosemary, wild bergamot, calendula and echinacea. Heat to melt Winter’s cold !
The heat is kicking us back to summer, but the colours know it’s time to fade to fall.
This morning I could smell Fall creeping in; the smell of warm earth cooling in the night, subtly different I think, then Spring’s smell of cold earth warming. Or perhaps it was the sight of so many bees amongst the flowers heavy with pollen or the subtle shift of the greens to a darker, duller shade that turned my thoughts. Maybe, the sound of the returning Merlins, back from where they fledged this summer’s young, is what gave it away. Or was it the feel of the brittle raspberry canes, spent of their bounty, that I trimmed out in the evening. Nature never isolates our senses, she always provides a bounty for all. We rely so heavily on sight when painting, that I despair of ever capturing more. But, I know it can be done because I can feel Vincent van Gogh’s paintings shimmer, and am pulled into the deep shadows of Hopper, and the breeze smells cool off Seurat’s water. Art for all our senses !