This morning it is autumn

This afternoon it will be summer

Tomorrow comes winter

Next week it will be spring

Such is September on the prairie

Every coat, every boot,

Every t-shirt, shorts and pants

Laid out to be grabbed

In a moment’s notice

This time of year

When meteorologists

Are as accurate as fortune tellers

It is beautiful in the chaos of it all

My column in this week’s Winkler Morden Voice and Altona Rhineland Voice newspapers.

Hope is a presence at dawn

Shining like the sun’s first light

It’s a tender voice spilled as water

Across a dry patched landscape

And drunk down by greedy life

It’s words sent like lifeboats

Unsought but delivered nonetheless

Hope is a face in silhouette

Framed by the glow of gold

And wishing you well at daybreak

Hope is a small kiss goodbye

Hope is a small kiss hello

Sometimes the quiet

Is the end of conflict

The peaceful exhale

After the crazed

After the storm

Sometimes…

i see Lisbon on my right
and am reminded of the cities of the world
that have suffered my feet
to tread awestruck down the street
there is Rome and Milan and Pisa and Florence
the villa at Vicopisano
boating on the lake by Lugano
there is London and Oxford
there far away is Tokyo
remember Auckland
remember Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne
days in Geneva hunting Indian food
Grenoble, Munich and Zurich fly by
while Amsterdam waits for us to land
i see a lighthouse on the edge of Reykjavik
i see the beach at Ipanema in Rio
and dancing until 4 am in Sao Paulo
drinking cusco sours all night in Lima
New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles
Chicago, Toronto, Montreal, Miami
so many more…
it almost blurs together
one great and beautiful busyness
what a world
what dumb luck
to have seen so much of it
to know my shadow
has stretched across their walls