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and the roses climb

By on Jul 9, 2015 | 0 comments

(polaroid sun 660 / impossible b/w film) the roses climb and climb higher, so high i need a footstool to prune and deadhead as petals rain down on my feet below, so high i will soon need to pull the ladder out of the garage in order to perform the necessary maintenance, so high i wonder if i should build an arch and send them across the sidewalk and back down the other side, so high my neighbour can enjoy them from the kitchen window of her raised bungalow, so high they might reach the sky. they were an experiment as most everything in my garden is and was and i wanted something different than the hearty rose bushes that grow large and fragrant dotted around my yard, a climber and i wondered, would a climber be strong enough to endure the long cold freeze melt of our winters, would a climber actually climb high enough to flank an arched entry in my front yard, would a climber actually...

a trail of thoughts, in list form

By on Apr 21, 2015 | 0 comments

  (canon eos a2 / fuji velvia 100 / 50 mm) 1. last fall, in the brisk cold wind, i lifted up bits of grass in my back lawn and pushed crocus bulbs into the earth.  i had read that if you plant crocus in your lawn, they will bloom brightly and eventually die down before the grass greens and grows tall enough to mow back.  spring can be a bit depressed looking with months of brown while the earth warms and the buds slowly burst into greenery.  i forgot that i had experimented with the crocus until my husband pointed at the tiny green sprouts and asked, what is that?  and then i remembered.  and now there are pretty yellow flowers scattered around the small patch of back lawn.  this fall, i will plant so much more all throughout the lawn and possibly in the front as well because those bright yellow flowers feel like the best kind of hope to me. 2. it is unseasonably warm this spring...

a few things

By on Apr 10, 2015 | 0 comments

  because.  fish tacos. i recently spent 2 weeks in california and it was pretty fantastic, all that blue sky and sunshine.  especially since it was all blowing snow and icy fingers over here.  i brought a few things home with me. fish tacos.  no i didn’t actually bring home fish tacos but i rekindled my love of the fish taco.  all things taco actually.  i have been eating a lot of tacos since i returned home and searched out some mexican restaurants to try out.  there are a lot more than there were the last time i checked.  and i found a really easy shredded chicken recipe in the slow cooker so that makes it easy to whip up a taco any ol’ time.  yum. ease.  i left my brain somewhere in the air between here and there and spent my vacation in a fairly dumb state.  literally.  i don’t remember the last time i was so dumb and unable to even coherently string a...

the lonely

By on Mar 10, 2015 | 0 comments

  there is a loneliness in being human, a sense of isolation that can happen in between the spaces of shared laughter and conversation.  and it is okay, this loneliness because it is the space where we can separate out all the noise and find the familiar voice that has guided us through literally everything to this point, right here, right now. it is harder to be lonely these days, truly lonely and i am starting to wonder if that is actually a problem for me.  it is too easy to pick up a phone and text out words, to read the words of others, too easy to connect in both shallow and deep waters.  and i look up and see the trees, long branches surrounded by more long branches and for a time they are lonely, without the brush of leaves covering them or perhaps they are truly lonely when the leaves are hiding their long limbs from view and birds are nesting and squirrels are...

home

By on Feb 27, 2015 | 0 comments

i have had many homes, some brief and some long and drawn out some that lived only in the spaces of my memory’s heart a snowy gravel road through dense trees, a white sand beach of rocky waves, a lonely tent swallowed up by the howl of something i couldn’t quite identify an old brick building with mold stained windowsills a trailer that had holes in the walls and a carpet that when pulled back revealed the dirt ground beneath the cracks, and that 1978 red ford fiesta that always had a cooler in the hatchback.  just in case i needed to escape to the quiet buzz of the forest and the crackle of a fire carefully made with kindling cut up with the hatchet that lived beside the cooler. i have had many homes that lived under my skin in the quiet spaces in between the living in the lost howl of my insecurities and the gruff growl of my rising up a bruised knee a soft sigh a whisper...