this tree

the one tree

settled into the fog 

and then sliding under and into

this great puddle of water ....

when it rains in the deep winter

feathery ferns of ice

riding in. 

i love the feathery ferns of ice

in the muddy ruts 

on these icy mornings . . .

there are so many moments . . .

riding home. 

under softly rippled clouds, 

beside puddles that hold the magic of the sky 

in their silvered skins . . . .

is it water or ice?

in the winter, i put my bikes away and walk.

i love walking

although there are days when it is tougher than i'd wish  . . . 

the toughest are those days when it's hard to tell if my next step is onto 

water

or ice.

the well-being of my body depends on knowing the difference . . .  

and moving accordingly

step-by-step . . . 

six kilometres! 

oh and this is ice . . . 

the snowman falls

the pure good stuff

deep into winter

a small rain

grasses by the river

let's meet at the tree

all that binds

it's not the chains of the past that bind us

it's their shadows . . . 

jackson's creek

just past mid-february . . . . 

quiet time beside jackson creek . . .

melt

walking home

right down the middle of the big puddles

the one tree

the south island of the silver bean archipelago

on a cold mid-february morning . . . . 

valentines day in grade two

valentines day. a tight knit class of twenty . . . seven and eight year-old children. eighty five cupcakes. thirty homemade cookies. four suckers per child. gumballs. a cake iced with bright pink icing. what could happen?!

a frosty morning

the snowman

the snowman in limbo . . . . 

his question: 

"do i let go,

or do i continue

bending over backward?"

i said "why worry about it . . . 

for sure at some point, 

some day, 

you'll be part of a cloud drifting across the azores . . . "

snowy

stone tongue

a stretch of ice

a muscular stretch of ice catching the late afternoon sun . . .

let sleeping ducks lie

their ongoing becoming

when it snows, it somehow falls and gathers on the river into these beautiful drifting forms that gather together the stories of the eddies and whorls, and the small gusts of wind that have been a part of their ongoing becoming . . .

always returning

all shovelled off

at little lake: all shovelled off and ready for a game . . .

the story behind this moment

may i share with you the story behind this moment. it's simple. what i hope that you can keep in mind is that this story describes one very tiny space and one very improbable moment in this entire universe. imagine! 

so, sometime ago a little plant grew out of a crack in the kerb that defines the space of a parking lot not too far from the otonabee river. i've walked by it many times. 

through the autumn it withered and then the part of its body that is above the kerb, dried up. a little while later, a tractor trailer was parked over top of its body.

a day or two ago, i noticed that at some point, the snow that had accumulated on the roof of the tractor trailer had melted and then frozen over the dried stem of the plant. 

here we are.

river breath

walking in through snow that fell like so many stars!

river breath had frozen onto the shore plants.

what she does with water . . .

walking home and sitting down for some time beside jackson's creek . . .

i love what she does with water on the really cold days!

two coiled springs

i was walking home last week up george street. the sidewalk was pure ice. when i walk on pure ice, i'm compelled to be in the moment. for the duration. it matters to me to not get hurt. just south of london street i saw something and i thought it was glowing, maybe on fire . . . well, when i got closer it turned out to be two rusty springs inside a flipped over chair. i wanted to stop and hold the moment inside my camera, but i passed it by. i thought on it for days, and so today i visited the two coiled springs. and i thought on the moment of my returning. the significance of these two coiled springs. the glowing rust . . .

sheets of ice

walking in past sheets of ice drifting under a soft sky . . . .