The sky is encircled
By a wreath in the window
Captive to seasonal garb
Made festive somehow;
May i frame my mind
In the self-same fashion
Rising to the occasion
Filled with a rare spirit
And lifted toward a new year.

Years are days now
Flying past
Never knowing
Which will be last
Feeling like fading
As though you are gone
Replaced like a dead battery
With something less drained
But who knows the limit?
Could be 50 more years
Could be five minutes
Gotta stop thinking about it
Look to the day
That already has
Its hands around your neck
And struggle forward.

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

The day was a blur

We were up

Taking care of cats

Then there was breakfast

And put to thrift

Back again

A little rest

But friends are coming

Make the soup!

Make the brussel sprouts!

We must eat, drink and be merry

For tomorrow… who knows really

Today is the only day we have

There are no other days

Now it’s almost tomorrow

Time to sleep

And hope to wake

One more time.

i smell lilacs
in the late spring
they conjure
a comforting ghost
too soon lost in time;
she comes to listen
and bear the weight
of sails whose ropes
have broken in
one too many storms
until a current takes me
and carries me to harbour
until i drift out to sea again.

a child cowers
and asks in wonder
from whence comes
this terrible thunder
but we of years know
having listened intently
to blow after blow after nlow
this awful, growing crescendo
heralds the flooding rain
heralds the lightning
that brings bright pain
and in its crushing greatness
in its dark and swollen form
it heralds the terror,
it heralds the storm.

what is the sun
but a thing that comes and goes
first warmth than cold grows
and the breeze,
what is that
but the inconsistent wafting
that carries respite from the heat
only to bite with the bitter cold
but me…I am the earth
i am the rock upon which one stands
forever solid, never rising nor setting
neither warm nor icy cold
simply the foundation
upon which one builds;
braver than that named brave;
more powerful than the powerful
who shame themselves
in sad comparison.

It’s simple

To  know a thing’s value;

If you gave all you had for it,

The rest is second-best.

Playthings destined for dust

Incapable of rising to the top.

I greatly appreciate the work that my wife put into what has become one of the most gifts I’ve ever received.

This blue wool scarf is almost two meters long, 35 stitches per row for more than 11,000 stitches total.

Best of all… made by Megan.