Lament

The yips and yowls of coyotes wake me again. Their cries so loud it seems they’re right outside the bedroom window. Likely not, but they’re near. It’s haunting, this chorus of—what? Celebration? Mating? Aggression? Just checking in with other coyotes in the area? Are there two or ten of them? Who knows. I hope all the neighbourhood

Seasonal Shift

I move my morning basket from beside the wing chair in the living room where I have watched the sky in all her splendour declare the glory every morning, to the den. Now, and through the dark months ahead, I’ll greet the day there, on the leather sofa under a Sherpa blanket. Cozy. In solitude

Respite

Gerry and I took a short trip this weekend and some of the gifts were conversation en route, hope resurrected, and releasing the weight of “is this all there is?”. I’ve been wrestling with depression—there, I’ve written it. I spoke it aloud a few days ago and now I’ve written it so it’s official. I’ve been in

Oh, Deer

It’s not uncommon to see deer where we live. They meander in the field behind our house, sometimes standing on their two rear legs as they reach for tasty morsels on high branches. They make salad of tulips in my front garden in the spring, to the extent that I’ve given up trying to grow

Day Begins

It’s dark when I rise these days. Still night, really. Certainly too dark to step out on the deck and greet the morning (I stopped doing that a few weeks ago when I encountered a black, hard-shelled creature the size of a Volkswagen). I sit in a wing chair near the window where, eventually, I’ll

An Ordinary Monday

There’s nothing especially remarkable about the sky right now. I’ve been watching it gradually grow light, and for a while I thought it might be spectacular. Not so. Not yet. There are more days like this than there are extraordinary ones—in terms of sunrises and experiences. We must learn to appreciate the ordinary, and see through it