Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Spring has sprung?





It’s harder to lose things and easier to find them, 
including yourself, in the light.” 

from Bathing the Lion
by Jonathan Carroll



Thursday, April 13, 2017




"He yearned for the day when the new church

would be built—right across the road. Now
it rises above the moon: saints in frescoes 

meet the eye,"

from The New Church"
by Lucia Cherciu

Monday, April 10, 2017

I mentioned we went to the park with the dogs last week.
Shaun, Nina, and Whateley not only saw the ducks but
they made a new friend.







"If we had a keen vision of all that is ordinary in human life, 
it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel's heart beat, 
and we should die of that roar which is the other side of silence. "

George Eliot


Monday, April 3, 2017


"These Castles, tilting the sky over their towers
Championing the river of hills below,
Have silent halls and courtyards locked with snow,"

ftom The Strongholds
by Robert Finch
in The Strength of the Hills
Indian File: 2

A bit of snow yesterday so Whateley and I took some
 photos in the back yard. Blue sky today.


"his mind, that sea, caught at green
thoughts shadowing a green infinity."


from Marvell's Garden
by Phyllis Webb
in Even Your Right Eye
Indian File: 8

Thanks Margy

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

"The sun argues 
ice to liquid"

from Icicles
by Mark Irwin

We took the dogs to the park today, the city has not yet filled 
 the pond. They wait till late spring to discourage the Canadian 
Geese from nesting. However this pair of Mallards were making 
do with the spring melt water in a low spot. Although they are 
probably our most common duck I love the iridescent heads on 
the males and all the colours you see when they preen.








"I am living deeply now
like the white spider I spy
among the wild roses." 

from These Heady Flowers 
by Elizabeth Kirschner

Sunday, March 26, 2017



"All night, this soft rain from the distant past. 
No wonder I sometimes waken as a child."

from Starlight
by Ted Kooser




"It is the process of writing that urges the writer toward a poem’s 
most natural, most effective form. The decisions are best made en route."


from The Poetry Home Repair Manual
by Ted Kooser

Saturday, March 11, 2017

"I've learnt the beatitudes of ice
something sacred, something cold, 
demanding respect, a paraphernalia
of horned boots, cowl and padded vest,
for body nicely flexed to winter's mold"

from From Shovel to Self-propelled Blower:
The Immigrant's Progress

by Rienzi Crusz


-15C/5F