Merry Magical Christmas

 

I luv luv luv a Christmas tree with boughs weighed down with decorations.  The more ornaments the more magical it tis in my eyes.    Lights of every colour, woven around every branch provide the sparkle along with metallic tinsel.  Shimmer on !

My tree is bespoke and beloved with ornaments from childhood, recognition of special moments in time, and those chosen by dear friends capturing our life long friendships. Those hand painted and sewn by beloved ones who have passed are gently hung on branches of honour, front and centre.

Collections of Harlequins to Balloon dog; glass hearts to musical metal-stamped ribbons; fabric fae to bejewelled frogs; they all express their love. And isn’t that the meaning of Christmas. Love, peace, and friendship.

Blessings 

natures Christmas ornament - haiku

 

Decembers Full Moon

suspended from bare branches

Christmas ornament

Evening visitors

As night falls, though it’s truly the sun that falls while moon rises, moon rising creatures begin to appear. The creatures I write of are those who live during the day but pay their final visit to the feeder as daylight fades and darkness begins. Perhaps I should write of evening visitors instead.

Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal soar in seeking seed tossed aside from the bird/squirrel feeder. They were a tad too late as the squirrels fed fully this day and there wasn’t a seed, a nut, or even so much as a peanut skin left. Their visit wasn’t long. After poking at the ice covered pond for refreshment and finding none they flew towards the winding river.

Squirrels made one last visit before seeking their nest. There are now three, two greys and one black. Where there brothers and sisters have gone are no one’s guess and I don’t want to guess with the speeding traffic on my street. The remaining family are plump with fluffy tails, similar to toilet brushes in size and fullness.

Northern Junco’s appeared without their “ping ping ping” song. Perhaps their vocal chords are still in summer mode. They were joined with Nuthatches, big and bold walking upside down on the tree’s until they land in the feeder. It takes a while. I would too and I wonder if their heads rush causing them to wonder which side is up...or down.

Tis twilight, when the sun has bade nightie night, and the moon smiles, and stars have begun to twinkle. It’s one of my favourite moments in time when the night sky is sparkling with life in galaxies beyond ours. It is a restful night, a peaceful night.

Un-blinding

For days I felt the shift,

the calling of Novembers Full Moon,

the Snow Moon and its eclipse.

My body woke at 4:10 am

arms reached to open blinds

and there it was, 3/4’s hidden

in a crisp clear sky, stars sparkling.

I stood gazing in amazement that

at last I was a part of this celestial event.

One only our spirits will see

in the next turning many years from now.

By 7:00 am only 1/4 was hidden.

I was still watching the un-blinding.

Blessings was all I could whisper.

the season has begun...

chests dragged from the basement

lids released to reveal years of collecting

ornaments celebrating the turn

The season has begun...

festive collars of greenery, red and gold glass

woven with lights and metallic gold ribbons

are hung around sculptural deer heads

their antlers dripping with ice-cycles and moss

collection of trees, spruce and pine cones,

green and gold glass, carved woods

are placed on top of cabinets, window sills

in every nook and silent corner

gently wrapped in paper are creatures

squirrels, bears, owls, cardinals

brought to life in feathers, fur and paper

eyes and wings sparkle with jewels

tin sleighs, wagons, and other toys

gaily painted in red and greenery

all bedecked with springs of holly

memories of childhood winters

elves, o my beloved glass elves

collected with care, love and memories

those with trowels, those with sacks of gold

an Irish harp, all shimmering in candle light

dining table is layered with cut-work lace

another layer of celtic symbols and metallic’s

comfort the nest of bejewelled goose tureen

garlanded with greenery, red leaves, silver dollars

The season has begun...

autumn texture - haiku

 

foliage colours

and form compresses in light

texture wanes, sun fades

bitten - haiku

 

frost bitten flora

succumbs to Jacks chilling touch

while strong sun reflects

Samhain

Samhain wakens to a grey sky

mist descends upon ancient burying ground

where gravestones are smothered

in moss and leaves, felled by cold rain.

There will be no sun this day nor eve,

this eve of haunting when other worldly

creatures walk the earth seeking solace,

a final rest place from their turmoil.

One night they walk this earth

unhindered from earthly shackles

free to roam, seeking their home

and at dawn their souls shall vanish

til they walk again next year...

scribbled notes

The night is chilly, hip hop on surround sound, and I’m toasty warm. Eves on the patio sitting and sipping are over for the season. ~sigh~ My journal is filled with notes scribbled during warmer temps and I shall attempt a brief description.

Lets see...

The usual rant of retiree and lawn mowers on Friday afternoons as soon as I arrive home from work.

The ongoing battle between squirrels and chipmunks, each thinking they are bigger than the other and deserve feed set out for birds.

Decompressing from the insane work week. I’m in need of a therapist if it keeps up.

Two weeks prepping and freezing tomato based veggie sauce, pesto, and veggies enough to fill the freezer over winter when prices are triple.

Making the biggest decision of my life and its repercussions not on me but my co-worker family. Hasta la vista worka.

Replanting the garden to fill in here and there, combining colours and forms; painting without a pallet.

The sounds and sights of various birds; nuthatches flutter with a deck of cards being shuffled, blue jays announce their presence then soar so silently and gracefully, sparrows zoom into the undergrowth then pop out to the seed pile.

Music, o the music I programme depending on my mood. Soft cello to flamingo guitar; motown to hip-hop, it all depends on the silence of the hood and which notes my mind needs to unwind to.

Fungi, such fun fungi has grown in my garden with monsoons. Humongous brown mushrooms, morals, and so pretty freckled white ‘srooms.

Weekends of locals with chainsaws decimating their properties of trees then to spend the next day with wood chippers. I would sooner listen to dental instruments then to those.

The ongoing battle with neighbourhood cats though banned in this town their owners let them roam preying on birds. I’ve buried enough birds and unfortunately not enough cats.

Colours of trees normally various shades of green are now glorious in golds, reds and yellows. It is the most beautiful time of the year. Leaves showing their best before they fade into skeletons then into the earth.

Half painted canvases awaiting for the brush to sweep.

Hunters Full Moon illuminated the garden and of course illuminated my sleep. O such a pain this time of year when sleep comes in two hours of on and off. No wonder I’m cranky.

With decisions made and a new turn of the moon life should ease up and my creativity return.

wrecked - haiku

gargoyle lays broken

upon stones with displaced wing

his spell has faded

the Watcher

 

 the watcher

the lonesome dove

perched high above

awaiting his seat

at the feast

harvest moon - haiku

glowing in twilight,

tree frogs and crickets chorus,

heralds harvest moon

evening feast - haiku

bird feeder topped up

flock of nuthatches descends

for evening feast

squirrels hang in a row

upside down and right side up

for evening feast

sparrows flutter in

weaving their way through the growth

for evening feast

sharp call of blue jays

invites their kin of cardinals

for evening feast

twilight in the east

causes life to seek their nests

evening feast ends...

golden

 air is clear and cool

as I relax at the Pond

twinkle lights strung along posts

emanate golden glow casting shadows

golden nectar chills in the goblet

while my body relaxes upon wicker

tis a night of wonderful dreams

of fae, frogs and toads, and squirrels

the chaise draws me in, calling me,

come rest awhile golden lass

the quarter moon shining brightly

will lull you asleep, I abide

Every home needs a colourful welcome

 

silence

 A few days off from being everything

and being so important to smooth running.

I informed the owner I won’t return

until my own mental health heals.

Phone has been silent ever since.

FRYday

 I come home after a ten hour work day,

change and head to the Pond.

The air is refreshingly clear and

a cool wind blows chimes to tease me to sing.

I’m not relaxing for fifteen minutes

when the symphony of mowers begins.

The retiree J across the street hauls out

his “silent” mower and is soon joined by his neighbour C

who inherited his riding mower that is heard

for three blocks away. He grins knowing the previous

owner ran it for two hours EVERY FRYDAY afternoon.

Next up is my own neighbour. We’ve chatted

explaining my preference to silence after a work week,

but in one ear and out the other. At least she is quick,

not retired and doesn’t dilly dally.

There is a pause and silence descends.

O what a fool am I when the chainsaw begins.

Not one block away and an idiot who

just has to give it a one more go.

I seek the sanctuary of my chesterfield.

Three hours later and the hood is silent.

Not an engine or tinker toy is revving.

There is peace and o such quietness

and I’m relaxing in silence, well almost

as squirrels have descended into the bird feeder

the squabbling has begun and I ~ sigh ~.

Wait! Tis now 8 pm and yet ANOTHER retiree

decides he needs to join his neighbours in creating

another perfect lawn for the weekend

just in case there are visitors.

I ~ sigh ~ and wonder why on a FRYday.

finches - haiku

 

familiar chortle

in trees as yellow finches

fly in for a feast

rip - haiku

 fireflies awake

lighting his souls final bed

rest in peace dear friend

Fireflies

midnight prowling,

patio door is opened wide

and I stand scanning the garden,

a blink, another blink, and yet another.

I gasp, and giggle,

“you have found me!”

says I to the night air filled with lights.

Thank you for renewing life,

I whisper,

as they fly blinking sky wards

Serenity in the garden

 

There is such serenity

in the garden this night,

the Ponds surface shimmers

in the evening breeze

while hyacinths and lettuces

float among the orbs.

The only man made sound

is Bach’s Cello Suites

emanating from speakers

out into the garden

where I sit and savour

sights and sounds.

Robinnettes have recently

left their nests

chortle from the garden,

calling to their parents

for substance

while both know they are safe.

Soon, sparrows and chickadee’s

fly in and sing their songs.

Were they drawn in by the cello?

Or the serenity?

I will never know and it doesn’t matter

for I am enraptured with their song.

The wicker chaise

calls me name, come lay with me,

let me arms wrap around you

and keep you safe while you dream.

The invitation is enticing...

Collecting In your face colour

 

I am a collector, a collector of colour.

While my garden is a serenity of greens, yellows and whites

the patio is, how shall I write, an in your face of colour.

Robins nursery

 

I must be living a good life and one with nature.

Last year there were three nests with mums’ nestled in.

One was vacated after a hawks visit. A bold one it was.

The mum left never to return after the attack.

This year there has been one successful brood of two babes

who are thriving in the garden, and they are huge!

Rick and Roll bathe daily in the Pond, each taking their time.

I am quite happy with their growth.

Rick and Roll sprung from the nest over the drive side door.

After they left, another mum redecorated the nest to her liking.

Presently there are two babes, again, sheltered, loved,

and now daily screaming “feed me” “feed me”.

I tried to banish nesting on the column at the main entrance

but she worked over night and within 12 hours her home was woven.

What could I do after her energy spent building her nest?

Ruth and Rupert are now proud parents of two babes.

I warned both that this was my home so deal with my living here

and I will be entering and exiting this doorway at all hours.

That hasn’t worked out so well as both parents are a tad protective,

dive bombing and loudly chirping their warning when I’m near.

To date there was one successful brood and two more on their way.

Last year there were four broods out of two nests. Not bad at all.

Mind you the weather was more agreeable and they all survived

without late snow blizzard and freezing temperatures.

Nature does sing its own tune and I happily sing along.

catkins - haiku

 

leaves release in warmth

catkins feel movement of life

she purrs to the leaf

lilacs - haiku

sweet scented lilacs

reach over the garden gate,

soon petals will fade

semi-precious

 

my beautiful stones

created by earths movements

over untold centuries

smoothed by rivers flow

by rivers flow

and tides washing in, washing out

gently smoothing the raggedness

creating jewels, a pleasure to the touch

to the touch

one feels the energy of creation

amethysts of divine colour

buried in the cliffs of my county

of my county

specks of gold in iron deposits

hidden in outcroppings

beyond everyday reach of human

reach of human

or without reach of my hands

citrine, lemon coloured ice crystals

woven into bracelets for a dear friend

a dear friend

chose her stones of jade, leopard jasper

and earthly variations of local agates,

earth colours befitting her soul

befitting her soul

my stone is moss agate

the name alone suits me

I wear the stones knowing...

a blue wakening

 

 leaves pulled away from wakening leaves

allow stems of brilliant green to emerge,

once the sun and its warmth tickles the bulb

blue blossoms reach for the sun.

petals unwrap themselves and spreading open

reveal the glorious goldness of life.

purple - haiku

 carpet of purple,

heritage garden violets

weaves their spring colour

Aprils final day - haiku

 Aprils final day

sunshine replaced snow

showers, earth revived

Delay of Spring

 

Tis Fryday, the end of a brutal work week

and I’m nestled in the den surrounded by books, art and music.

Around the Block sings from the stereo; indie artists taking my breath away.

Its been raining for days, which is most welcomed as soil is very dry,

a silent thank you to the heavens for this life giving moisture.

With rain cooler temps arrive that cause the garden to halt its growth.

I survey the garden and see it being covered in a blanket of white.

No No No, this is not right, this is not Spring.

The twolips, having disappeared from existence for years,

finally made their appearance this spring.

Now they are being held hostage to the elements.

The lone Red Poll has landed in the bird feeder,

pecking at what is left after the Ravens feast.

Robin feeding her brood cuddles them into herself

anxiously living out the storm. Will they survive this temp?

Scillia’s, daffiies, lillies and yew are bound down

under the weight of white shite, Will they rebound?

I sigh remembering the garden just this morn was a carpet of green

now lays cloaked in white velvet.

Damn you old man Winter! Begone with you!
You are no longer welcome here by any living creature.
Siren of Spring, where are you? Have you not the strength to battle him for rights?
Tis time Siren, herald your troops of a warm sun, gentle winds, and clear skies.

Banish him from this land for we have weathered enough of his follies,

we need a land of heat, a sky of blue, we need Spring.

spring blizzard - haiku

 late spring snow blizzard

daffies in bloom now broken

petals lay frozen

honey bees swarming

seeking open fresh flowers

are spent in repose

lilac, apple buds

glistening after the storm

in brilliant sunshine

slumber

 slumber find me

wrap me in your arms

silent, til I have rest enough

allow not waking

bird song to break

your spell of deep sleep

nor train whistles

speeding through town

singing at every crossroad

just let this mind and body

to relax and shut off

without thought or dream

slumber find me

this one night this week

I need the purge of life

my books

 

What I’ve missed the most during the past year is perusing book shops. I am a collector with book cases overflowing with worn paged books, columns of read and yet to be read stacked in another corner of the den, piles of half read, when become bored, laying beside me bed. Tis me good night tradition, when done, the page is marked and light extinguished. I fall asleep with the writers vision in me head. A sweet way to end the day.

It’s not just the title or inscriptions, but the cover art that also entices me. Like a fine bottle of wine, the label speaks volumes. The artist, be a scribe or a vintner, designs the label to suit the song. And I, an aficionado of art, sings along with the story.

A few found delights are The Bar Harbor Retirement Home for Famous Writers, The Peacock Feast, The Lost Painting, The Chef’s Secret, The Hare with Amber Eyes, The Mermaid and Mrs. Hancock. There are many more that have found new homes with adventurous eyes and minds. I can’t write enough about seeking new authors with interesting tales to tell.

Books with a story, be it fiction or non, can envelope me so tight I find it difficult to breathe until the reading of the next chapter.  Steampunk, art, gardening, architecture, history, faerie tales, and even pop-up.  If they whisper to me, I will bring them home. Just say my name and I’m yours.

Brava Sappers

 

Tis that time of year when the sugar shacks are producing liquid gold,

that ever so pure and sweet maple syrup, natures gift.

It is a long process with days and days of splying, gathering sap,

depending upon the weather. The temperature must be exact

and old timers are constantly checking the weather.

Too cold and trees shut down. Too warm and sap spoils quickly.

Collection is via buckets or hoses; we prefer buckets over plastic hoses

that must be sanitized regularly. Buckets are open to the elements

and what kid hasn’t drunk from one. Tis a right of passage.

I’ve worked a sugar camp for years and there is nothing so exhilarating

being in the bush, working until you collapse onto snow from exhaustion

with the widest smile upon your face and scent of maple syrup in the air.

Not only in the air but it permeates your clothing, that heavenly scent

inhaled by passerby’s in town who smile and nod. They know.

Unfortunately this year I can not participate and it saddens me so.

I relay weather updates hopefully ending with clear sky and warm temps

and silently moan wishing I was there. In my absence I was asked

to bake my secret Ginger Snaps. Spicy and moist, to keep the lads going.

And the lads kept at it, day and night, switching shifts,

even though the virus swept through the community,

those who returned followed strict protocol

until the weather turned dismal and soon buckets

were emptied and sadly the last was boiled off.

T’was a sad maple syrup season this year, weather and nature

battling about; friends kept sheltered, weather was dismal

and those die hards worked dawn to dusk to dawn

seeking to produce that glorious liquid gold.

O to those sappers, brava!

admiration - haiku

 

card playing barn owl

winks with such a passive face,

my admiration

Spring awakes

 

First day of spring and dawn
brings light into the cabinet
filled with treasured heirlooms,
Wedgwood, Georgian silvers, ostrich egg

I have missed this glow,
living room bathed in sunshine
welcoming me to the day
and the task of overdue dusting

Soon the sun will shine higher
and leaves will shelter this view
but for now I shall relish this
and enjoy the awakening

Just a hug

 Tis been a year since I received a hug,

a hug, a simple physical emotion between two people

wrapping their arms around each other in celebration.

That celebration was my birthday.

This year there was no fine dining with dear-hearts,

no gathering of folk and friends,

just me, music, phone calls and e-mails.

The birthday cake was non-existent,

because the bakery was closed. Guess why.

It was replaced with a sliver of fine chocolate.

Kinda hard to light a candle in that.

I miss the humanity of celebration and I’m not alone.

If only we would respect each other by following rules.

I certainly do, at work I’m a designated essential service

or my job is. I’m there for employees though

I’d prefer to be elsewhere safe and sound.

But I’m there and find it difficult to remain hug-less

when a co-worker has just been diagnosed.

~sigh~ Tis so hard to deal with.

This may turn in to a rant, and I try not to here but

My message to the Covidiots is this,

STOP, just STOP!

Follow the rules. I’ve given up much of my emotional life,

as have my clan so why can’t you? It isn’t that hard.

And so my birthday continues with mixing pigments,

tuning into Motown, scribbling and finding an ooommmm.

for better days ahead.