first ice on the creek

a late november ride home

spearfishing

the ice arc

time beside the shore on my way home . . .

caught in opposing currents

i sat beside the river for a while, 

watching these leaves travelling up and down the current of an eddy....

"a lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life."
mary oliver

soft promises

this morning i stopped for time with this little plant 

bursting with soft promises

. . .

a graceful roil

across the river

twyla

i saw her and i thought on twyla tharp . . .

riding home 'round the bay

the wiz

riding in this morning through a small cold rain and stopping for quality time with "the wiz", a local character whose real name i heard once but who to me has always been "the wiz." we talked about fave tangerine dream discs (nothing after nineteen-eighty), how to make a bad bike good, and how we're dealing with learning that we're growing old because our bodies are telling us so.

the small feather

this moment ... this morning . . . down close to the ground and i was looking at the sugary crystal frost outlining the little and the large leaves and then ... soft as sweetness, this small feather filled my eyes and the sun was so strong that it held its downy end and flared it into a blinding white obscurity, but nevertheless, there was this simple assemblage ready-made and lying right there . . .

first ice

down low to the ground on a frosty morning

gingko leaves

this little tiny plant

this tiny little plant is growing tight to the railway tracks just near the train-bridge across the river . . . i ride by it each day .... 

this time it held my attention .... 

i got off my bike and to my knees beside it's complexity. 

you could cup its entirety in the palms of your hands . . . 

here 'tis,

at once so fragile and then also, 

so strong....

across the autumn river

a heavy frost

his personal jungle

the cats are beyond overjoyed as i have brought all the porch plants indoors.
here's mister moksha cat enjoying his own personal jungle . . . .

the gingko tree

overnight this gingko tree dropped all of her leaves.

i'm told that this is what they do - all at once!

spilled ink shadows

yesterday afternoon.
watching the spilled ink shadows of bare branches twisting and arcing across the river's skin ....

in another light

the fresh red

he really doesn't care . . .

i'm trying to write report cards . . . .

on our front lawn

summer's goodness held in the fading gold of the hosta leaves . . .

by the river

friday morning

riding in to school ....

november puddles

across the river

looking across the river.

it's so like looking into the future.

the fingers of what's there are palpable. 

soft. suggesting form rather than describing it . . .

The day after Hallowe'en

The people I "work" with . . .

cupcakes for my Grade 2/3 class . .  .

My daughter's pumpkin . . . 

My pumpkin . . .