COUNTING BLESSINGS SERIES - # 2

 

Today we planned to fly to Rome
The start of a month-long adventure;
With dreams of riding twisty roads over misty Tuscan hills
Tramping through historic towns,
Checking out stunning, scenic vistas,
Boarding ferries to Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily,
Winding our way along coastal roads,
Lingering on mountain tops
Hiking the Path of the Gods,
Scoping out ancient ruins,
Taking time to chill at sunny beaches,
Sipping wine from every region made from luscious sun kissed grapes
Savouring succulent fruits and seafood, fresh from the sea.
All these plans and more are put on hold for now.
Instead today, counting our blessings,
We drink wine from Sicily with damn tasty take out pasta,
Toasting future adventures.
Knowing that our dreams will wait and 
what we have now, is pretty awesome too.

COUNTING BLESSING SERIES # 1

 

 

Today I took the kayak
on a mirror clear lake into the marsh
where water lilies bloom
and dragonflies hover,
where blackbirds balance
delicately on tall reeds,
lifting wings to display ruby red underbellies,
the color of my kayak.

Below, submerged logs lurk,
like dinosaur bones beneath the still water
and waving weeds swirl green tendrils towards the light.

The calm embraces me, immerses ne
in an oasis of peace.

Walk strong.

 

For Ruth Mary Engel

 Special poem for a special lady on a special (90^th) birthday.

Ruth Mary
I see you on your deck in calm contemplation,
the river, flowing calmly, wide as a lake,
a cliff-drop below you.

Close your eyes. 
Feel the breeze.
Hear the call of the loon.

Let Engeland embrace you.

Without turning your head you sense all of its parts.
Unerringly you trace the path to the Green Cottage 
on its perch overlooking Snake Rock and the new bunkie.

Smell the fragrance of pine.Touch the texture of rock

You know every contour of the steps
passed the laundry, to the beach.
Your toes touch the rock
where you start your daily swim
the water smooth as silk,
refreshing you, body and soul.
Close by is the Hex, whose every corner
you know so well.
There's the trailer and a small climb to the Mouse House.

You smell the crackling fire in a firepit, 
or perhaps one of Dwight's special, roaring brush fires.
You know every rock that gives the landscape its personality.

You hear,
family chatter
the sound of laughter
the splash of swimmers
the chug of an ancient motor;
the delicious sound of silence.

You remember
moments shared,
moments of solitude
moments to cherish.

Engeland, your spiritual home 
embraces you, and you are blessed.

FOR DIGBY

Admiral Digby, Sept. 2008 - May 2020.
He will be sorely missed by his sister Nellie and his humans.

A faithful companion to the end.
It's hard to say good bye my friend.
Clinging for comfort to thoughts
of better days and happy years.
Moments to treasure and make me smile
through threatening tears.
 
It's okay to go when the time is right.
And I know it is for you tonight.
Sleep well my friend and journey
safely, through the long night.

SO CLOSE AND YET SO FAR

Have you noticed how the world has become
        both smaller and bigger at the same time?
London, Ontario has receded as far away
        as London, England.
A coffee shop meeting with a close friend is as distant
        as a visit with a friend in Vancouver.
A monthly networking event is reduced
        to 20 headshots in Zoom distorted by spotty Wi-Fi
An international conference with scholars from around the world
        remotely, on phone, tablet or computer monitor
        academically useful but distantly impersonal.
Yet, I can tour an ancient tomb
        digitally from the comfort of my couch
Or take my time to explore
        gallery exhibitions in distant cities.
With the magic of street view
        I can walk down any street in the mapped world.
        or zoom by satellite over mountains, lakes,
        exotic destinations or my own neighbourhood.
Without leaving my house, I can
        browse catalogues of any store,
        order slippers or motorcycle parts for delivery
        by Canada Post, to my front door.
Restaurants and bars are out of reach,
        but delicious new recipes flood my inbox
I have the time to bake bread
        and experiment with Moroccan chick pea stew.
I miss browsing in the local library,
        but I can download new releases to read at leisure.
Meanwhile, living in close quarters
        far, far away up in the sky
Astronauts orbit the beautiful blue planet,
        knowing that ironically, they are safer up there
        in the International Space Station
        than anywhere on earth.
And we on earth, isolated in the comfort of our own homes
        living our lives remotely
        stare longingly at the sky.
So close and yet so far.

MEMORIES OF CAPE TOWN

If I close my eyes,

I can almost hear the steady roar of rolling surf
and smell the salty tang of spray and feel its gentle sting
when I walk in Sea Point along the sea wall on a gusty day.
I can still hear the clickety clack, clickety clack of the train
on its slow route through St James Station to Simonstown.
I imagine fishing trawlers plowing through choppy seas
to unload their daily catch at Kalk Bay harbour.
 
I sense Table Mountain standing guard, the town nestled at its feet,
a white table cloth of clouds unfolding down its sides,
until the wind changes direction, lifting the veil,
revealing the power of the mountain and its attendants.
If I rode the cable car to the top, I would see the bay,
ships snug at harbour, homes, beaches and lonely Robben Island.
 
I relish for a moment, the feel of sand between my toes
as I stroll along the water’s edge of Clifton beach,
sun beating on my back, toes tingling from the Atlantic Ocean chill.
Or better still, the rough play in warm breakers at Muizenberg,
leaping waves or diving through the heavy ocean swells.
 
In my mind I still feel the power of my horse
as I gallop along the shore of Bloubergstrand
or trot quietly amongst the vineyards in Constantia.
I loiter for a moment at the gates of Springfield Convent
to kindle memories of school days and school friends.
Then on to UCT, taking the hard way, walking up Stanley Hill,
across the rugby fields to picture-perfect ivy clad walls of my Alma Mater.
Here I rest on Jammie steps, seeing distant mountains capped with snow.
 
At end of day, detouring along the glorious drive of Chapman’s Peak,
I sit on pure white sand, a glass of Pinotage in hand,
to savour once more, the glory of a sunset at Llandudno Beach.
 
Cape Town, no longer my home, but forever in my heart.