angels

“When a man says he hears angels singing,

he hears angels singing.” 

Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings

what keeps us from falling down?

“Read one newspaper daily (the morning edition

is the best

for by evening you now that you at least

have lived through another day)

and let the disasters, the unbelievable

yet approved decisions

soak in.

I don't need to name the countries, 

ours among them.

What keeps us from falling down, our faces

to the ground; ashamed, ashamed?” 

Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings

abundance

Messenger

My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—

          equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me

          keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be

          astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart

          and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

          to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

telling them all, over and over, how it is

          that we live forever.

Mary Oliver

what matters

Let me 

Keep my mind on what matters / 

Which is my work, 

Which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished... 

(Mary Oliver)

we need beauty

We need beauty because it makes us ache to be worthy of it. 

(Mary Oliver)

above . . . and below

yard duty

a buttercup seen through the flare of a dandelion gone to seed . . .

peter rabbit . . .

but of course it is! 

beside the river

a favourite quiet spot . . . .

our front porch . . .

across the river

flowers

every day as i ride i see flowers . . . . 

i always stop to share time with them . . . 

they still represent to me one of the many miracles of this place!

riding home

how it all begins . . .

the first scrap of the day begins . . .   a twitching tail, a keen eye and WHAM!

fifty one years . . .

i arrived in canada, 51 years ago today (june 16, 1966). 

we left ringway airport in manchester on a boeing 707. 

my first plane ride.

i hadn't seen my dad for over a year.

i left behind all my friends. my family. many of my toys, my books, many of my clothes, my border collie, the only home i'd ever known.

my dad met us at the airport. he had a huge car. a pontiac parisienne. he drove us near downtown toronto. i was awed.

when he brought us to our new home - a tiny two bedroom apartment in a massive apartment building i was equally awed that we had a fridge, a stove, a bathroom with hot and cold water, and everything was new. it had furniture, a balcony, and i could see the don valley parkway from the bedroom window in a bedroom i shared with my brother.

my dad took a huge risk in going to canada alone the year before. he took on the possibility that life there would be better. it had to be. we had next to nothing.

i owe him my life, several times.

all that i have i have earned through my work. but the possibility of the many kinds of work i now call my life was given to me through he and my mother's incredible decision to leave behind everything.

thanks mum and dad.

crossing the creek . . .

breakfast with friends

with my special friends michael and andrea and their children william and grace . . . .

crossing the london street bridge

mica

our second beautiful kitten . . . moksha's sister . . . .

moksha

our first beautiful kitten . . . .

rocks, river, and cloud reflections

sipping

clouds sipping at the fountain . . .

two beautiful days . . .

in the warsaw woods

time together discovering the small treasures in the warsaw woods.

tinytown

meanwhile . . . down where the fairies play . . .

promise . fulfillment

promise . . .

fulfillment ...

prayer

I think one thing is that prayer 

has become more useful, interesting, fruitful, 

and... almost involuntary in my life. 

Mary Oliver

after a hard rain

looking up

leaning in against the west wall of our home and looking up . . .