Monday, April 20, 2015


i tremble
 and wish to flutter
 to live lightly
spread my wings and fly
leave it all behind
today i cry
i watched two Mourning Cloaks have sex
i laid in the gravel beside them 
for an hour
eventually i left
they did not

Sunday, April 19, 2015


Recently, in the last year maybe, i have felt more concerned about our planet and it's inhabitants.

Now, the 17th of April 2015,  Mary and i climbed up Kusawa ridge. We knew what we were looking for, but didn't know if we would find it, we were open to the possibility that we were too early. Yet there was no doubt in our mind that the douglasias would bloom again. When not that day they would this month be there blooming.
Somehow we were rewarded with the best spectacle of douglasias ever. From the moment we stepped onto the ridge till we reached the snowfields, the ground was dotted with pink. At times having to watch our step, as not to step on them.

When you consider the last photo, the condition we were hiking in, to me it is a miracle in the biggest essence of the word, that such phenomena exists.

And that this is not one unique, single mountain ridge with such beauty, i am sure there are many many more.

Truly we have nothing to worry about, when such inundated glory still takes place every single moment unconcerned with what do or don't, we are not so important.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

je t'aime

 of course i went back
 always always i will go back
 i paint like crazy
blood red
the crocuses did bloom
just not were i looked
dancing bare feet on bare rock
my true love is the batholith
 the deep deep batholith
the granite
the veins of shale
the porcupine was gone 
an empty nest
the raven never came

for how long will i crack open?

Monday, April 13, 2015


It is lovely to live where i live, and maybe i should write again like i used to, about my excitement of the gentleness of my wandering in the woods. Today extra sensual,  the softness of early spring, i followed a warm gully ( alas no crocuses)  but came out by a small cave, and peeking in,  yes a porcupine. I didn't see a lot of activity around the cave, like a trail leading into it, or trees being gnawed. Was this her winter den? Or was she or he just hiding from me. I do think they could live in such dens in winter. Porcupines do not really hibernate. She moved slightly, not sleeping. Will she have a young in there?  I will visit the place again, when i can find it. I did NOT make note of my exact location, on purpose, i feared i would go see her everyday if i had. 5 km away i did come upon this totally stripped tree, i read porcupines like to eat it all once they find a good food source. I suspect rabbits having eaten the bark of this tree, yet i had never seen them doing such a thorough job. All i could think  was whoever it was, they were inspired by Brian @Talk from the Timber.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

so many thoughts this morning

 does anyone know where my original thoughts are?
the ones that started this blog.

This is a real question, someone said she read them here, but i can't find them.

Saturday, April 11, 2015

inspired by waves of crows

a short story

And a door closed behind me. The man in the room barely visible, silent. I more felt then saw that he raised his left arm.The black wing darkened the whole ceiling which had only been visible as a lighter darkness before. I wasn't scared. This was not a situation to be scared. I knew the darkness quite well. I had heard the click of the door falling into it's lock many times this year. For months now i would visit this house at night.
Sometimes during the day in the hard light of bright sunlight and heat, blue sky and artificial green grass, i would pull out a black piece of down from my hair. Like a little stick covered in lichen from the days when i lived in the forest, my knees always wet from the moss. Now my bare feet had black soles and hard cracked callouses on the edges of my heels.
I stood there for a long time, trying to control my breathing, so it sounded if i was relaxed, if all was as usual.
Suddenly, a screech close to me. I was startled by the scratchy dark call of a raven. I heard the heavy sound of it's wingbeat as it flew away from the window. It must have been sitting on the window sill, without me noticing it. I took that moment to move one foot. A step closer to birdman. Half bird, half man. One black wing on the left, and on the right side a normal arm. A shaman stuck in transformation. The inner circle completed. Once a great grandfather spirit, now more a helpless hungry boy. Yet i knew that during the day he managed quite well. Cutting wood, hauling water,cooking soup from the bones of songbirds that he lured into his house through the open window. The birds gullible, not even deterred by the crimson red curtains, which were being pulled out and let back down, rhythmically, by the draft, as if the house itself was breathing.
Why does he let me visit every night? I do not pleasure him, not sexually. My heart starts beating faster, louder, pounding. I have to move quickly now, and act fast. He will know already that something is up.I can hear his slow brain forming a thought. A thought of how to prevent me from doing the thing we never expected.
We both did not know it had come to this.

Friday, April 10, 2015


his black wings
building a nest
not for me.
my wings,
20 feet wingspan and white.
roaring laughter.
20 feet?
when soaring above clouds
nothing can be less insignificant
puny and unnoticed.
only yesterday
i realized
how much better i can be.
and to think
that i thought 
i was something