Birch Island Books

She is a Golden Girl, clad in green, eyes dancing,
feet dancing,

Swift and sudden and ageless.

Last night, yes!
I went out to meet the Stranger at the Crossroad.
Yes.
And I met him.
And we were not strangers,
though at this meeting, I learned more of his shapes and forms,
His scents, his voice,
His love.

I made a small poster to remind me of first principles:

Joy
Love
Clan
Truth
Honour
Courage
Welcome
Kindness
Abundance
Boundaries
Communication
Responsibilities

and here’s the thing, the words “Joy” and “Love” were written so small. At the beginning of the page, I was worried about whether the letters would fit at the end. Also… Joy and Love? Hard to write (thanks, ancestors).

But I did write and made it pretty, silver pen on black paper, and I even hung it up where I see it every morning coming down the stairs. It’s partially behind a beam, so I see it from bottom to top:

Responsibilities
Communication
Boundaries
Abundance
Kindness
Courage
Honour
Truth
Clan
and the place were I messed up and didn’t do the letters properly in proportion.

Less comfort that you might think (well played, ancestors).
So, I took apart my office and I’m cleaning out the east end of the attic and putting the office there.

Found the silver pen yesterday.
It’s not dried up, it just needs shaking (ha! metaphor).

And I embellished Joy and Love until they are both proportional and outstanding in the strength and beauty of their letters. Yes, old ones. I insist.

Joy
Love

It is confirmed:
water tastes better from the other dog’s bowl.

Oh, YES, you beautiful, amazing world!!!

the first lupines are tentatively pushing out of the dark and offering a solar sail,
and the strawberry gals crept in during the night,
and the wild will always win in time.

The woodpeckers are doing their thing, and
I am reminded that it’s not all about finding the bugs.

This one’s in a beech and that one’s in a maple,

But that bird right there found a hollow tree sticking up out of the beaver pond and his message is carrying for hundreds and hundreds of yards!

He has totally won social media for this morning.

It’s snowing!

Happy 99th birthday, Mother.

The days must not blend,
they must each one be precious and meaningful,
not a handful of diamonds, but a handful of sand with flecks and greys and browns and those little black bits.

Each unique, ancient, weighty.

I am reminded to celebrate days as one celebrates children,
each one unique,
each with a different message,
a different lesson,

Both recalling the ancestors,
and wholly new.

I snapped last night and raised my voice at the dog.
But then I raised my voice to my dear one who tried to help me yell at the dog – no, I get to yell at the dog, you do not get to rescue me or show me I’m doing it wrong or whatever you’re doing.

This is my yell, don’t you dare steal my spotlight.

It had been a perfect storm of things niggling, and my refined, advanced, self-enlightened strategy was to yell. Ah, well.

Begin again.

The snow falls so gently, so beautifully,
into my coffee and onto my face and hair.

!It snows on our NOSES!
!and the snows are MOVING!
!and we shall HERD all the SNOWS!

(I know there are sadness and worry out there),
(but for this moment they belong in parentheses).

Right here and now the world is magic.

A little music and texting with a friend –

lovely start to the day.

We walked in a gentle rain with coffee and peepers.
The dogs were less enthusiastic about the rain than I was,
Yet they bounced as well.

Something delightfully cleansing about gentle spring rains.