The River, My Heart

A landmark in my life, the river follows
ages, and eras, seasons measured by her flow

She acknowledges change, bears the winter
regally, swells with confidence as Spring rains

Will walk beside me in sunnier times, and
hold my secrets as Autumn catches us in her flames

She holds my heart, my faith, always knows
and at end of day, oh how she glows.

(For Lens-Artists Photo Challenge: A River Runs Through It.)

A walk in nature reduces life-sized problems
to ant-like awe – an open secret often ignored.

I travel back roads, am humbled by
the power of farm machines,
the vastness of the sky.

Gratitude larger than this limiting skin.

(For Cee’s On the Hunt for Joy challenge: make yourself small; Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: roads; and, Reena’s Exploration challenge: oxymorons.)

Scenes From Ontario Winter

I cast my shadow over white banks
assert my presence, proud, defiant

Will find beauty in deserted golf courses
and colour in a monochrome season

I am haunted by a Winter state of mind
resolved to stretch myself despite creeping chill.

(Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge is winter scenes. This Winter I am challenging myself to endure a season that typically I escape. I am determined to find the blessings. So far, so good.)

Wintry Rebellion

Tracks on ice remind me that even in the depth of winter there is movement. I am conflicted by the onset of cold: resigned to spending more time indoors, and already feeling the restlessness set in.

Art projects line up, encouraged by the many related gifts I received for Christmas. Writing calls to me too – so many unfinished works vying for space.

Perhaps it is the confinement itself that I fear, having known what it is to be truly homebound, and never wishing to relive the experience. I have come to love the outdoors; have embraced nature as my sanctuary. Can I tolerate the separation?

Ice crusts, encloses,
yet passion flows – fire carves
path – driven to thrive.

( Happy New Year all! Image from personal collection.)

Burrs

How many winter walks
ended with burrs matted
in curly Wheaton hair;
how you wriggled
to escape the grooming,
how we laughed at your
jokester antics?

Your spirit still fills
the empty spaces,
I hear the jingle of
your collar, catch
a whiff of terrier fluff,
pull on an invisible leash
whenever I encounter burrs.

(For Cee’s Flower of the Day)