Tagged: canadian


Oh the great debate…
I love getting inspired by blog posts.
I happened upon this post today What’s good for the Soul do that and as I started to comment I realized that maybe I should start a discussion and  create a post rather than take up a page worth of his comment section!  The post is about racism, understanding, cultural differences and acceptance.  Below is what I hoped to post in his comment section in response to his post.


There is beauty in all things even in the people that appear to have no beauty.  Even in those who exude hatred.  There is a beauty with in them that is very hard to see and understand.  It is complicated and requires much time to untangle the actions and moments of their experience in life. Ignorance is such a complicated issue.  Society, culture, family, history and experience combine to create belief systems and thought patterns that many people are unaware they even possess. Continue reading


The Loon’s Cry


The Loon’s Cry

Outside the tent

Darkness and giant trees swaying in the wind.

The lake is moaning in it’s troubled sleep.

And far across the lazy lapping waves,

Above the crooning of the wind,

I hear a wild loon crying,

Like a weary soul alone in the dark water. Continue reading

Shadows and Flowers


So this morning I happened upon the blog naming constellations.  More specifically a piece entitled Slow Rhapsody http://namingconstellations.wordpress.com/2013/03/07/slow-rhapsody Maybe it was all the bacon talk (I love me some bacon) or his writings that reminded me of the weightiness that winter can bring (being Canadian I am well aware of this feeling) or maybe it was his beautiful poem.  But what I do know is that I was immediately inspired to write and this is what came of it.

You never know who is reading or what your writings can do for other people.

Trust your instincts. Trust your intuition. I can’t say that enough.

Shadows and flowers (spring is in the air)

It’s so close yet it seems so far.

The hint of a memory, like a glimmer of a shadow that catches your attention out of the corner of your eye, certain that you saw it you turn your head to find there’s nothing there, you turn your head even more with hopes of finding even a fading shadow. 

You realize it was never there only a distant memory of what was.  

But you know.  You remember. 

You can recall the smells, the sights and the sounds.  

Your body becomes alive, your senses heightened.

Somehow you know.

The flowers are about to grow.


I am vacationing to a chalet in the eastern townships of Quebec for a family gathering this weekend.  We’ve rented a chalet to celebrate Granddad’s 90th birthday.

I am bringing two crock pots full of sausages and bacon.

I will be wearing my rubber boots.

And I will be searching for where the flowers are about to grow.