February 22nd

Driving Home in a Snowstorm

We passed through Dixon hurriedly as the wind dragged us across the highway, the car windows breathing, ice wheels wheezing

We opened the window just to live dangerously and feel the cold on our cheeks

After two ours of driving home in a snowstorm we arrived home dead beats ready to sleep

And now all I remember is the dream of white linen sheets wrapping us blindly, static in the fabric made all the brightness cling to us

A glimpse of the river and we knew we'd be home soon.

February 21st

February 19th

without it i'd be lost

without the dream of rain

music coming from the backyard

banjo echo, kingdom like gold

bright day, blooming garden

tomato, basil, strawberries

shaking hands with the moon

birds we've never seen before

softly land on our knees

swans floating as we breathe

breakfast on the gorge.

February 18th

perhaps the best thing

is cold air

and the feeling that

things are only beginning

ice makes for easy escaping

but in all this frantic white

there is no reason I can find for running

Feb 17th

There is liberation in the longing

but please just fill me with joy

so I can be light

and you can be lifted

Feb 16th

Jewellery Making

February 15th

February 14th

here is the place

where I need rest

settle the dust

so mud will not

keep me stuck.

Feb 13th

"God is not a human, that he should lie,

not a human being, that he should

change his mind." Numbers 23:19

There is no river here to meet me

the long grass and gossamer glinting is something I dreamt up.

There is no forest of gary oak trees,

there is heavy fog

but it doesn't lift.

The chance to sleep has left me

and the sun hums busily on the horizon.

Coming Back from the Moon

Parasail and the wind

things we forgot about

gravity is one of them.

your silver grommets and loose space suits

This is where your mind gets lost-

blue and white scales peeling back like a drowning

arbutus and every night I dream in india ink

black needles and thread

pastel envelopes we mailed to

some man in the arctic who has to deal with

all your requests

and finally you fall asleep in a Russian submarine.

Blended Days

I am finding it harder to be transparent in all of my creating. Somedays I feel what I create isn't worthy of posting and my zeal is dissipating. Today I wrote a poem and it goes like this:

Have you been to the river?

the one that runs over your hands throbbing red

where your veins pulse and your eyes swim frantically

smooth rocks sink and glass sheets cover up the jagged truth

standing waves scream with rebellion

Do you live in fear that no one will listen to your cries of devastation

I'll see those long brown eyelashes droop like ferns

and the dew that glistens is just morning making his parade

there is nothing new under the sun

Seigel Pass

Nadia and I, recorded this song in the bathroom at camp. We are currently trying to come up with a band name. This song was written when we we're going up seigel pass, thus the name. We hope that it reflects a bit of God's glory and other truths. This is day 23? I am losing track.

Day 22

Robert Frost

This is a map me and Faith's five year old brother, Elisha made one night. He would draw the roads and the houses and the forests and tell me how to label them. He was very proud of the map.

I drew a picture of the wood stove in their living room:

Day 21

I dreamt I had to shed my skin

and in doing this,

I tore apart my body

we found your body

cold at the bass pond

across from the

railroad tracks

we dragged you back

your spine cracked

across the river

in the raft

I woke up

at the table

but it was not a dream

just a very late night.

day 20

Greek Fire

rising up

from melting ice

black soot runs like

flaming glue

the centre is

purple licking blue

smoke billowing straight up through flume

smothering pine spews gray fumes

as I watch black water combust

I try to explain the darkness

that is so natural within me

it comforts me

and corners me

like the paradox of

snow burning

I glow with fury when I think

about how I got here

humid hospital, fluorescent lights

and earlier the fire blazing in the sky

thinking I could change my mind

it is hard to talk about it without

feeling unworthy

You wouldn't think wet tamarack

would light in a mud track

in february

but I can see the flames

rising up as the pitch catches wildly

How can there be beauty in darkness?