Monday, May 28, 2018

“There were no lions any more. There had been lions once. Sometimes in the shimmer of the heat on the plains the motion of their running still flickered on the dry wind — tawny, great, and quickly gone. Sometimes the honey-colored moon shivered to the silence of a ghost-roar on the rising air.” 

from The Lion of Boaz-Jachin and Jachin-Boaz
by Russell Hoban

Friday, May 25, 2018

"Blue heaven and brown earth compel me.
     I wander as a child at play.
What was it, little sparrow, tell me,
     That made me grieve so yesterday? "    
from A May Song
by Archibald Lampman


Sunday, May 20, 2018

The Past

I am ensnared currently, on the wheel of the past.
And the quote below is a good reminder,
to shake free of it.

"What I want to say is
that the past is the past,
and the present is what your life is, 
and you are capable 
of choosing what that will be, 
darling citizen." 

from Mornings at Blackwater Pond 
by Mary Oliver

The Fly-away horse

"Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse 
Perhaps you have seen him before;
Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept
Through the moonlight that floats on the floor. 
For it's only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, 
That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh 
And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane, 
Is up on his heels and away!" 

from The Fly-away horse
by Eugene Field

Friday, May 18, 2018


"Cocked in that land tactile as leaves
wild things wait crouched in those valleys
west of your city outside your lives
in the ultimate wind, the whole land's wave.
Come west and see; touch these leaves."

from Midwest
by William Stafford

Thursday, May 17, 2018


"My self will be the plain,
wise as winter is gray,
pure as cold posts go
pacing toward what I know."

from The Farm on the Great Plains
by William Stafford

Saturday, May 5, 2018

“We have searched the wide world over and 
not found forgetfulness.” 

from Sword Against Death
by Fritz Leiber

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Barrie, ON April 2018

“The line between the reality that is photographed because it seems beautiful to us and the reality that seems beautiful because it has been photographed is very narrow."

from "The Adventure of a Photographer” (Difficult Loves)

by Italo Calvino