Beach Treasure
- At January 30, 2011
- By Dian Day
- In Travelling
1
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 is hard not to come home with some little treasure in my pocket, since every step I take brings me to another marvel. Today, though, we get to the beach to find that the ice has come right up the shore past the high tide line, covering the sand and stones and shells with a crackling white landscape. Remarkably, today’s treasure looks back at me sceptically, and refuses to consider climbing into my pocket.
Window II
- At January 25, 2011
- By Dian Day
- In Home
- 0
Outside, the wind drags the temperature down to –30. A William Morris wallpaper has appeared on a corner of the frosted glass. This small scrap of perfection is the only thing that stands between me and unbearable cold.
Snow Noise
- At January 18, 2011
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
- 1
As the temperature falls, crunch becomes squeak. I am sure there is an explanation for this, but right now I don’t care to hear it. Instead, I want to think about the deer in hollows under the evergreen trees; I stand listening for the high notes their cloven hooves make digging in the snow.
Snow Load
- At January 11, 2011
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
- 0
Alder, pin cherry, hawthorn, maple, birch—a thousand saplings bow their heads low over the paths as if they would pay homage to all who travel here. As I pass the heavy snow dislodges and the trees leap up behind me like youthful courtiers. Queen of the woods, I grant them audience. Despite their heavy loads, I find they have no grievances to share.
Human Tracks
- At January 06, 2011
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
- 0
I have worked hard all year to see the evidence of human incursions onto this land in the same way as the other wild creatures that travel through here. It is only a human animal, I tell myself. Whether the young men from the village pleasure-riding or my neighbour hunting for dinner, I try to feel like a steward rather than an owner, and to embrace sharing this land with all creatures who come here. I am almost there. It is only the presence of one carelessly-tossed beer can that holds me back.
Deer Tracks
- At January 05, 2011
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
- 0
The snow tells stories of the living woods and all the animals that travel here. The well-trodden paths that in summer are discernible only to the practiced eye are obvious to all in wintertime. The innumerable comings and goings of invisible deer along and across our route makes clear the limitations of our human perception. I have a sense they are all just out of sight, waiting patiently for us to pass.
Window
- At January 01, 2011
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
- 0
Underneath the snow, the ice is as clear and as smooth as glass. Crouching beside the track, I look through winter backwards to last year’s leaves. I imagine being on the other side, looking through the frozen window into this new year. Windows show us worlds we can’t immediately access. Still unknown, the future calls me outside to play.