Curtain Call

five thirty
the sun has curtsied
excusing herself
to make way for the stars

Freezeframe

Golden leaves
Rainbows
And snow

Shades of Today

The sky is steeped in azure
The sun rises honey yellow
The leaves - shades of green that blend to gold
The meadows fade to sepia
And the moon waxes blue

kittypics

Loaf the Gregarious

Dog the Adventurer

Bean the Contemplator

Interment

One baby kitty
One raspberry bush

Third

Tiny and wee

And black as can be,

With a bit of white

That showed in the night.

Born number three,

It was wait and see.

Something not right,
Yet she summoned her might.

I couldn't foresee

What she'd mean to me,

That little sprite.

I stayed hopeful and bright.

It was not to be.

She had to be free

From fetters so light.
So she reached a new height.

Now back to three,

Brothers, sisters and me.
I will think of this night
And hold her memory tight.

Third of Four
May 3, 2012-May 6, 2012

Passing

Indeed
what dark madness is this
that descends upon our fair hamlet?

wishing for anger
instead
only sadness
poignant and deep

Rest in Peace sweet Cory.

"First Tracks"

Free falling
through
folds
of
white velvet.
Whoop!

Cubes

Thinking outside the box
is akin to waking up
and putting your brain on sideways

Tenses

Our past is history.
Our present is a gift.
Oh, what luck!
Our future is an empty slate.
It's all within a moment.

Time's Gift

Our Dad.
A kind and gentle soul.
He was a father
and so much more.
A patient man
who always saw the best in everyone
and everything.
He was a steady guide through stormy seas;
both pilot
and steering star.
Dad was the one who would keep his head
when those about were losing theirs.
When we were little
he would dance with us balanced on his toes.
He would blow perfect smoke rings
as he pulled on his pipe,
and sit in comfortable, reflective silence.
Dad was an eager teacher
and a humble poet
with the inner strength of a tall pine.
He could explain the world in simple terms;
from the tiny veins in a fallen leaf,
to the inner workings of an outboard motor.
He was a quiet man who
when he spoke
we paused to listen
and we heard.
He was the loving substance that bound us.
And that beautiful Love endures.

Morning's Breath

Stealthy
as white night
with fingers twined about slender trunks,
lingering over frosted blades.
Caressing.
Poised.
Its embrace
ethereal.
Cloaking rock, stone and earth
as it hangs,
cleaving in vain
before the advancing bright.

Perspective

How small we seem
When from the outside seen.
How large we be
When from within we see.
Just a pinprick in time
When we gauge the line.
But expansive we are
When we look afar.
In this we may confide
For it is ours to decide.

Reflecting

I had a dream
That when I looked into a mirror
Past my shoulder
The impossible was possible

raptors

the osprey
the eagle
wingbeat for wingbeat
a flawless choreography
swoop for swoop
wheel and dive
the fish
tumbles
free
from the grasp of the osprey
the eagle
like a rock
plummets
to rise again
triumphant
clutching its plunder

Secrets of the Garden

Being in touch with the earth.
The literal sense will also take us to where we need to be figuratively. My fingernails currently bear signs of the moist, black soil in which they were immersed - and where they will return. I cannot imagine living high above the ground, within blocks of stacked, drywalled capsules, where I cannot stretch my toes and touch the grass from my stoop. However, the large attached deck that soars above the ground, is my refuge during the warm summer months and upon it I tend my garden, a riot of cascading colour, that thrives in clay pots and planters. From this vantage, I may cast my eye over the valley and accept the peace it offers up. The purpose of this garden, jutting out from the hillside as it is, is as practical as it is aesthetic, for the local ungulate population has a voracious appetite - petunias, begonias and pansies; apparent delicacies. The lawn, on the other hand, slopes from the gravelled road in front, in undulating rolls and rocky steps, back and downward to merge into pine and poplar forest, eventually sliding beneath the water's silky edge. The fire pit, noted as the social gathering area, has been relegated to a relatively flat portion of tended grass at the north end of the house - a cool, breezy spot, shaded by a large willow and protected by lilac bushes and towering fir trees. It affords a different perspective across the lake. The irises that flourish beneath the shadow of the trees at the edge of the property are left in peace by the deer - I like to think it is the result of an innate reverence for their beauty.
My garden. A labour of love, wherefore the rewards I reap are tenfold.

Relative

You
are you.
I
am me.
Together
we are us.

Big Things and Little Things

As I head into the busiest time of my year, I find that writing and playing on the computer is so low on my list of priorites that I cannot see it through the haze.
I have been very busy at work. Inventory is an important item during the shoulder season, and I have found myself running from room to room, counting and replenishing. It is a rather fun, but time-consuming activity. With all that, and keeping up with the paperwork, I am virtually breathless.
On top of all that, I have attended the resort orientation for the most part of the week. The snow school is now under the umbrella of Panorama Resort, so it is compulsory that all employees attend the official orientation sessions. In past years it has been a simple e-mail to Don or Heather - and I'm in. Not so this season.
It is quite exciting to be involved with a fledgling snow school! We all have a say in how the manual for future years will read and new ideas on how we think the entire operation might run smoothly. There were forty eager, newbie and veteran/young and old, instructors in one big room. It was fun tossing ideas about and voting-in those which we think will stand up and voting-out those we think might flounder. We got to know each other and are now a united front - slightly different from the relaxed ski school of years past.
This is no slur to Don and Heather whatsoever, who ran one of the best ski schools in North America! They were ready for retirement and the ski school had become slightly faded and jaded, as will anything after many years. There is now a renewed energy that we all feel.
Yesterday morning (in the falling snow) we experienced our first on-snow session of the season and, with it, the opportunity to take the new-to-the-mountain instructors on a tour. It was not only to familiarise them with the hill, but to show them the best teaching terrain - a very important aspect of instructing on the slopes.
As the session came to a close, I simply skied off to my office...
I have today off from work, but not resting by any stretch of the imagination. Getting caught up is more like it - but there is more!
We have a two-bedroom condo reserved for three nights - one of the perks of my job. Once I leave this keyboard, I will be spending the remainder of the day cleaning, doing laundry, organising food, supplies and clothing, then packing the food, clothing and outerwear, as well as skis, boots, poles, helmets, etc. The pets need to be looked after, as well. I've left them in the care of Hillory, who lives in the downstairs suite of the house. She is a kindred spirit when it comes to animals!
Bobby and Jenny have their bags packed and ski clothing and equipment ready and waiting. Both of them are pumped for opening weekend. Bobby is bringing a buddy, but unfortunately, Jenny's friend was not able to come along. Beth will be meeting us there later this evening after work, so the girls can ski and hang out together.
If anyone is wondering, we have declared opening Friday at the ski hill an official Statutory Holiday...
On that note, I will abandon my computer and begin my long weekend - and wish you all a good weekend, too!

Waraz Baldy aka "Red"
May 11, 1979 - November 24, 2010
Funeral service 10:00 am at Fiddler on the Hoof Farm.
In lieu of flowers, donations to your local SPCA will be greatly appreciated.

In His Own Time

.
I see you leaping the Rainbow Bridge - head and tail held high as you gallop with the wind.

I will miss you, my old Friend.
.