~ the music is essential to complete this experience ~
Here, in this moonlit forest, midnight’s snowfall shimmers softly through the boughs of old growth, deep and still, as if an infinity of star clusters has drifted to rest from the heavens. It blankets our high-mountain meadow in pearled crystal down.
This night falls quiet and crisp, as a great white owl echoes hauntingly through frosted cedar. Moonbeams sparkle off the snow-draped conifers, like diamonds — necklaced enticingly ‘round the supple shoulders of fair lithe ladies.
We linger and listen, entwined ‘neath winter’s window, mesmerized by this chill magic that enchants the sleeping earth. Soon we will dream, safe and warm, quiet in the hush of this realm, nestled ‘tween solstice past, and the equinox that approachs.
gently we slumber
adrift in winter magic
freed of time and space
I’m the fragile fall of snow
softly blanketing the earth
Old man gazes out his window
uncertain just how long it’s rained
alone in the twilight he has questions
were his losses worth all that he gained
memories like a dying candle’s flicker
thoughts of his loved ones — sadly gone
entwined bittersweetly in his heartstrings
a thankfulness for those that still shine on
Walk with me my love, ‘round the lake, into our favorite stand of old growth. Let us listen to our footfalls, as they drum the root chambers, each step cushioned by centuries of needledrop in this ancient forest. We will enjoy the rise and fall, twist and turn of the trail, serenaded by the breeze in the treetops. The steady rhythm of our footsteps will sooth our weary hearts.
We’ll trek deep into the woods, to that crest of the knoll overlooking our special log. There we’ll rest, under the towering woodland canopy, and bask in the filtered sunlight, that drifts down dreamlike, golden into our sacred clearing — while we breath the intoxicating natural bouquet of this timeless forest… of conifers, ferns, mosses, musks, and ionized mountain air. So come, and bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness, and nature’s magic.
“Reflection on the current troubling and volatile state of the world,
as brought on by the erosion of truth, and the secrets concealed in dangerous hearts.”
Dark souls entered through an open door
stirred panic with twisted metaphor
left clarity bleeding on the floor
the mystery yet is ours to find
but deepening night’s not far behind
with their secrets and our fears entwined
madness calls us to its shore
wraps around us threatening more
tearing at our gilded core
our book of darkness is duly signed
our troubled souls by chaos confined
false dangerous hearts fiercely aligned
caustic secrets we must abhors
much saving grace still to restore
uncertainty sways our final score
frail honesty is stumbling blind
truth now by smoke and mirrors defined
l fear our prophets may have lost their mind
Dad was an avid fisherman. He taught me well.
He passed in’83. I often think of him as I ready my fishing gear each year.
W ith gentle nudges
dad’s hushed deep voice
urges me from the cocoon
of my toasty morning covers
wake up Bobby
my childhood moniker I’m gonna make us breakfast
then those fish better beware
fishing
our passion
which I now share
lovingly with my son
and he and I
with his son
my grandson
…well, back to my story…
I hear muffled footsteps
the creak of an iron door
then a wooden — thunk thunk
fresh kindling being loaded
into the stove’s fire chamber
then the scuffing of forged ore
as a heavy iron poker
probes the iron fire chamber
coaxing a glowing ember bed
to ignite the fresh logs
this is gonna catch quickly
start gettin’ up son
sure hope you’re hungry
staggered, softly percusssive
phuft phuft — phufts
announce lengths of virgin fuel
bursting to crackling flame
I poke my eager head out
into the damp morning chill
of Ontario semi-darkness
as the big black stove
groans to full life
a welcomed burgeoning heat
begins permeating the cabin
the soft glow and muffled hiss
of dad’s Coleman lantern
clutches at the darkness
as dad clunks and shuffles
the bulky iron skillets
atop the rapidly heating stove
breakfast is coming son
dad proclaims
a smile in his voice Canadian bacon, cakes ‘n eggs
his statement accompanied
by the sizzle and aroma
of strips crisping in the pan
hungry — I slide from bed
excited and shivering
imagining this day of fishing
that lies ahead
slipping on my robe
I go to the window
where the tin bowl
of kettle-warmed water
rests on a small table
waiting for me to soap
my morning face and hands
through the cabin window
I still see a myriad of stars
in the clear northern heavens
above our wilderness island
small waves lap at our stone shore
occasionally knocking our boat
laden with our fishing gear
against our weathered wooden dock
I see the Espanola sky
just beginning to lighten
and hear the pre-dawn loons
calling across the pristine lake
barely rippling in the AM breeze
as I stand washing up
I continue to reflect
how lucky I am to be here
fishing with my father
this amazing man
who adopted me
saved me
at that moment
I’m snapped from my reverie
by his kind voice…
