That’s always how it is-
I know I should be focusing on so many things
But my mind is endlessly fixated on just one person.

The realization that you’ve spent so long chasing the end of a rainbow
And you continue
In spite of it leaving you clutching nothing but a fistful of wind.

Morningrise

When we camp, we have our priorities set.

In sea water, more than a few feet deep, blood is green. 

Water filters the light from above, seeming to consume the colours of the spectrum shade by shade. 

Red is the first to succumb, to disappear. Green lasts longer. But then, bellow 100 feet, green too disappears, leaving blue. 

In the twilight depths, 180-200 feet and beyond, blood looks black. 

As the years have gone by, I’ve found that I talk to myself more and more and more. 

Progress or regress?

To find the end of a road.

Not a dead end, not a cul-de-sac, not an enclosure of houses, not just another convolution of roads in the suburbs, not a destination.

I mean where the road ceases, and has no choice but to. Where the road is no longer paved and winds for miles and miles of gravel, roots, earth and aether, anything but road

And eventually, after fighting it’s way as far as it can it reaches a clearing, an ocean, a cliff, wall, an edge

The very edge of civilization, where human turns back into nature

Where to keep following its lead would be to chart a new route.

Ambivalent, and rough a round the edges

Yet well-balanced and satisfied.

Confident, and silver-lined

Ever the optimist

Waxwings in Calgary, shot in film by me
Waxwings in Calgary, shot in film by me

Waxwings in Calgary, shot in film by me

I’m not angry. I’m making tea.

There’s a difference. I don’t dislike you. what’s not to like? I’m sitting on a futon, reading a book, eating edamame. And I know you don’t dislike me. I imagine you texting ‘you ok,’ no question mark - and my reply, an unpunctuated ‘I guess.’ Two text messages, two pale flowers in a clear glass vase.