Finding fresh ways to write timeless truth.
I carve out time to sit in the park in the shade of a magnificent tree, and look up. I find peace in the strong trunk and branches, in leaves, still in the heat of the afternoon, and the sun’s rays barely peeking through. I watch a man wearing a red shirt climb out of
We think about taking the dogs for a walk in the sunshine after lunch but the wind kicks up again. Instead, we leave the pups at home and go for a drive. We stop by the community garden for the first time this year and see nothing reaching through the straw covered area where we
A woman, with an awkward gait that makes me think every step she takes is wrought with pain, carries a long rectangular canvas bag across the grass. She stops when she gets to the edge, wrestles a contraption our of the bag, and transforms it into a chair which she turns away from the park
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
“Are you ready for church?” I call downstairs. ”Yup. Be right there,” Gerry calls back. And like we’ve done every Sunday for the past ten weeks, we gather in the den where I work some magic to get my phone display to broadcast on the big screen TV and we have church. Afterward, we talk
It’s a beautiful afternoon so, after watering the garden and pulling a few weeds, we head to the nearby park to walk. It’s okay. We’re encouraged to get outside and enjoy our city parks. People on blankets in the grass, and towels on the beach, appears to be practicing appropriate social distancing. Something new, since
I carry baby tomato plants in a small box on my lap while Gerry drives to the community garden. My hands brush across their leaves. The scent of hope wafts from them. The plants have been growing in my laundry room since I dropped tiny seeds into pots in early April, unmotivated, with barely enough
We’re out and about on a sunshiny mid-February afternoon, going about our business and enjoying one another’s company, when we encounter a man who has fallen on the ice. He’s injured—not seriously—but an ambulance has been called. We’re shaken and choose not to go for a walk in this icy area. Subdued. Each sitting with our
I’m working to a deadline at the library with paperwork spread out on a table next to the window facing Victoria Street. My laptop is open, as is my tablet, because sometimes two screens are are more effective than one. I’ve chosen my spot poorly today, because the library drop-in tech support fellow has set
We put up our three non-traditional trees. I spend the dark afternoon in the soft glow of one of them, listening to the King’s College Choir and working through edits on my manuscript. It’s time well spent. Today, more of the same—minus the manuscript. The house is winter-cozy even if it doesn’t yet feel or look
Unexpected changes of events, delays, and spending time in town (worst of all at a big box store where the cacophony and confusion threaten to be my undoing), and feeling like we’re robbing ourselves of the gift of enjoying the fleeting days of summer. These things, one after the other, and I get testy. Seeking