Busy Bees Salute

To be ten, is to be at the crest of a wave the best of your days have led up to this height where the view of the future is open and brave and you’ve grown past your fear of the night. These young girls, in their tender years already wise, for their fathers survived…

Unkai: Sea of Fog

this morning, unkai – the sea of fog – unrolls train valley Oe-san and browning peaks around all swim in mist slow down feather grey engine sighing smoke kisses mist sun weaves thin air banners between lowering waves of cloud it begins above train arrival chimes one note falling far from clear song one silver…

Coming to Canada: A Gardener’s Meditation, Part 2

Walk Lightly As for my Indigenous paternal family, the roots of connection to land had been seared and cauterized in so many joints. You can see it in the thickened waist, that telltale stress-marker of starvation and trauma, passed down into phenotype. Grandma wore it gloriously, the bear’s body and round face. I have her…

Coming to Canada: A Gardener’s Meditation, Part 1

A garden is a long work. Yes, you can turn soil, plant seeds, harvest in that same fall. In that sense, to grow a garden is a simple task, unskilled labour; weed a little, watch the water, wait on the season, and done. Gardening, though, is more than this. It is the communion of human…

Practice

This is not the garden yet, but a beginning, seventeen years worth work submitted to wills and whims of climate. Mid-April and the ground only now in view, shawls of snow lying about like dirty underwear after a particularly long night. The mud, the mud, it’s all mud. Who knows what survives? One thing for…

On the Topic of Fishing*

Miss Manners is strangely quiet on the topic of fishing; she sits in meditation on the point where necessity goes to the highest bidder. All Life is sacred, her granny taught; so the fish is sacred as is the worm, as is her own belly, engine house of her soul. How to honour all this?…

Day 11: Future

inner child, sit down listen to the elder we want to become: a body made strong movement by movement through years of conscious worship of this miracle temple loaned to our soul a mind ever bolder movement by movement freer to fly as compelled by songs who want to be born humming at the door…

Eyes

heart sinks as wisdom wells up memories stretch, time grows short if, in middle years, we grow another head to watch our back trail, let those new eyes see clearly, the thread that transforms mistake, instinctive thrash, one true brave choice, all of it, into a dance that holds steady; so the forward eyes, even…

The Ballad of Banaabekwe and Her Gulls

What diplomacy today can bring to the rescue mice fit to chew through plastic nooses carelessly left to wind around the bleeding necks and throats of sea elephants? You don’t hear that fable, now, do you? – Don Perkins 1. Banaabekwe, at her loom of seagrass slowly, in dappled morning sun, weaves stories for her…