The Canyon

In the canyon

(It used to be “cañon”

From the Spanish

Meaning "tube") 

Camp by the river

Tents and tables and a fire 

Trees perched impossibly on the sides of cliffs

The smell of dead trees burning and the sight of white wispy

Ash. 

Bald rocks with 

Tufts of sprouting dry green hair in their crevices

Lichen covered rocks.

Water bubbles and froths 

Around water-logged stones 

Becoming more water 

Coursing down the river

The sound of it

I want to jump in

Knowing it will be freezing

Snow melt

The breeze

Human stillness in the “quiet” of nature

A small black bird bathes in the shallows.

Someone has drawn a large neat spiral into the sandbank

Though the water has eaten the bottom half

Prints of dog paw

Haphazard, excited in the

Wet sand

Evidence of the tide 

Golden flecks shimmer

Alluvial dust, fool’s gold 

The sparkle of minerals 

Restorative cold stone soup 

A tiny bug on the paper

Too narrow for a tick

Let it wander

It meanders into the fold of the book 

Once a tree

The infintessimal and the infinite 

Drive up through the mountains

Wander down to the stupa

Wind and light

Quiet reflection 

Write the names of those recently, and long ago,

Dearly departed

In the book in the temple

And hope that their names here

Will make their restless spirits peaceful. 

Deer and chipmunks and impossible birds 

Sit beneath shady trees and 

Bright blue sky

Beside the rushing river 

With friends and chatter and see 

Human consciousness 

Elevating towards love and light

Until the next big bang,

When the universe 

Returns to the size of a pin 

And the canyon

Is no more

The end. 

Blue Skies

Today I went running
And the mercury was pushing
14 degrees celsius/58 degrees fahrenheit
And it felt so warm!

And there were two people
Practising tai chi in the park
Slowly turning in their forms
Present enough to smile
At runners by

There were arborists
At work
Grown-ups paid to climb trees
Whilst juggling chainsaws

There were babies
Toddling and laughing
In the playground
There was a designer mummy
With her designer mini me
The tiny daughter with perfectly neat hair
And flouncy pink frills
Maria Von Trapp would never have approved
She was not in play clothes
There was a baby in the pram
Exclaiming "Oooh!"

By my second lap
The tai chi practisers
Were sitting on the ground
Meditating

The sky was blue
The sun was warm
People were smiling
And it was lovely

The end.

Are We There Yet?

Out for a run
With the mercury pushing
Ten degrees celsius
(Fifty fahrenheit)
The sun
Winning battles
With the clouds
And in the park
The first jonquills
Are in bloom...
Spring is on its way!!!

Once on This Island

(With thanks to prima guapa Rachel)

From Boston to Hyannis and 

Across then across the water 

To the island of Nantucket.

I’ve been here in the summer, late spring, and winter,

I’ve seen soft pink roses climbing up the trellises and walls

I’ve seen icicles dripping off the picket fences

I’ve been here before it’s warm enough to swim

And hot enough to brave the chilly water.

I’ve cycled down to the beach

And sat on the warm sand

And fed myself hot chips,

I’ve sat on the deck at the brewery 

When the sky was bright blue

And the sun was warm

And the local wines were flowing.

I’ve sat in the Bean when the weather outside was biting cold and played Scrabble and drunk hot chocolate,

I’ve sung in the church choir at Christmas

And stood in my tita’s impossibly tiny kitchen and 

Learnt to bake American style Christmas treats, 

Sugar cookies, lemon love notes and chocolate truffles 

I’ve built gingerbread houses covered in candy 

And danced the chicken dance on New Year’s Eve.

I’ve walked down Main Street countless times

To the beautiful home of my Titos de Nantucket.

I’m not just a mainland tourist

I’m family,

And the familiar (haha!) lovely welcoming warmth of it

Is comforting.

The island may seem idyllic, 

It is indeed beautiful,

But being here over several visits over the past few years

I know it is a place where people live their lives.

There is joy and heartache and work and life

Just like any other place,

But today I sat on the wharf

With my book

And I watched the boat ferrying my prima back to Boston 

Head out of the bay

And I sent her a message to remind her to throw two pennies overboard

To ensure she will return

And the sun was warm

And the water was shimmering

And I smiled my thank you to the beach

That I can be here

And feel like I’m ever welcome 

To share in the magic of the island

The end.