Travelling

The clouds open up, showing a blue that is always so hard to remember.  This blue is like a door or a window to another …

I wonder sometimes if it is primal, instinctive, and mythic, or if I have merely learned somehow to feel a certain ache when gazing at …

  A pair of finches swoop and dive against a backdrop of eternal blue, playing a game of sky tag along the centreline as if …

I’m not sure why we’ve come to treasure these broken bits of discarded bottle coughed up by the tide.  Perhaps it is because the sea …

I usually know, even before we arrive, whether I will find something in the sand—a special rock, a sand dollar, a mermaid’s tear.  Truly, it …

It seems the days are perpetually overcast, the rain always just beginning or just ending.  There is a constancy in the supply of fresh mud …

On overcast days, the dark comes especially early.  The woods are too-quiet; the songbirds have flown.  The white pine branches are still and cold, with …

In the early morning there was almost-ice.  Now, the maple leaves float across the pond, the blue sky and dark branches reflected on the surface …

I would not even call it patience.  She walks knee-deep in the still water, parallel to the shoreline.  The tide rests in that still place …

It’s a strange beach.  The irregular-shaped grey rocks are studded with occasional smooth circles of pink granite, bigger than I can lift.  Everything I know …