Early Summer

It’s been a week where every day has felt like Friday so I’m relieved this morning that it’s finally arrived. It’s been a week of slow and steady, weary and wonder, doing things and letting other things go. I wish it was warmer but I remember smoky summers when forest fires ravaged our province and

Better Work

There’s a dog sitting on my head when I wake. Maya must have been scared by the wind in the night but it’s calm outside our window now. It’s about 4:30 and starting to get light. There’s light cloud cover and not the oppressive gray we’ve been under for days. We haven’t had summer yet—or not

This Ordinary Morning

I wake from a disturbing dream, bringing some of the burden with me, and feel the need to orient myself. It’s Thursday (though it feels like Monday after yesterday’s Canada Day holiday). The person in my dream hasn’t been in my life for decades. I have to go for blood work today. I listen to

A Day

Gerry brings home two flats of plump, sweet raspberries. I wash and crush some; cook and stir and sweeten them; fill jars with jam and set them in the water bath canner to process. It’s ridiculously cool outside for late June but in the kitchen where I work you’d never know it. While the jam

Lean in. Lean hard.

“Do you think you’re falling into a depression around this COVID thing?” he asks. ”Yes,” I respond. But the weight is about so much more than the pandemic, and depression doesn’t fully describe what’s happening in and around me. When things get loud I tend toward quiet; these days I lean in even more to

Stones

I tune in online to watch the summer solstice at Stonehenge. It’s cloudy at Wiltshire, England and there isn’t  much to see. The only sound is the wind. I watch for a while, remembering what it was like when Gerry and I stood on that ground in the cordoned off area looking at the stones,