afternoon shadows stretch long
last piles of dirty snow melt in silence
smudge of winter forbidden

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You Move Me

Nothing is more patient than water. 
It moves at a pace set by the stars.
In forms we only think we understand.
Dividing mountains and plains.
Sweeping across the land voracious.
From one tiny droplet in a cracked stone
to a mighty storm surge hurricane fed.

Standing in the Rockies, on the stones.
Geologic babies still sharp, still wild.
Standing on a frozen lake, fed by glaciers.
Standing on a frozen river.
Hearing the water from the waterfall
still moving stones, mountains.

Our plains are shaped by wind and water.
From prehistoric lakes and inland seas
to carved peaks and rounded old stones.
Trees and plants cling, dig in, embrace.
Reaching for water, for life, down deep.
Animals follow rivers like a highway.
Sometimes becoming lost in our cities. 

Humans dig, pile, plan and dam against it.
They attempt to tame that which is world
shaping and wild, living and breathing.
Nature won't allow her children to stay
trapped by us forever. She will let them
break free in a fury of wildness and
violent creation. Recreation. Rebirth.

Grind down. Build up. Bind and rend.
But when I am in the mountains.
On that frozen glacial waters I don't
think of that ancient lake, or the flooding.
I think of the beauty wrought from the 
fluid upheaval of rock, the shaping of
wind and water. The wildness is a way
to find my calm. My centre. It soothes.

What changes will spring bring?
Floods and storms ravage the earth.
We cannot hold her back when she
is determined to blow, to flow, to break.
We can only seek shelter and rebuild.
From what she leaves behind.
And we mourn what we thought
to be permanent and should have known
was more fleeting than a breath.

Yes I am standing on a frozen lake, and a frozen river.
And I felt the river flow below me. It was , as it should be, wild. 

Enjoy the silence

Closed up for winter, shuttered and warm.

The sounds around are muted, interior.

The furnace rumbles and bellows.

Floors creak and windows stay silently shut.

Blankets are burrowed under, coffee sipped slow.

A power outage – sudden utter silence. 


First day of spring and windows fly open.

Chickens chatter in the melting snow.

Birds start their spring musical array.

The house seems more open, more alive.

The sounds outside louder, more awake.

Smells tease – stench to sweet, to promise of…


Snow clings in deep iced piles that crunch.

Slush wavers between slick and sloppy.

Each step a sound effect of alien walking.

Touching things, are you awake yet? Are you?

Listening for the smell of the earth waking.

Listening for the smell of the trees waking.


Quiet isn’t really that, it is more a space to breathe.

Quiet is the silence of expectations, of needs.

The hum is the energy coming up and returning.

The breath out, and in again, again, again.

Balance between noises felt and heart,

The quiet that is not silent. The silence of stillness.


Pause, it is that moment when we have the windows open

and the furnace kicks on again to warm us.

The impatience of the next while embracing the now.

It is the space between a first too hot sip and a cold dreg.

A dreaming dog twitching and racing at your feet.


Enjoy the silence. 

Wow…that felt GOOD. No..not good. GREAT!