Tuesday, 30 December 2014


There is a soft snowfall this morning
and the trees are perfectly kissed with white
and there is silence here
A kind of quiet that is anything but
Chickadees happily chatting
throwing spent husks over their shoulders
a steady bombing of miniscule refuse onto the deck below
Pages of books slowly turning against the sound of another's breath
the way the chimney talks in response to the fires heat
soft pops and creaks
a steady heartbeat of warming steel
There is silence here
We fall easily into this life
Breathing deeper and moving slower
Hands on hips in tiny spaces
become a slow dancing conversation
necessary for sharing small distances
 hot stove and cold winter air
Mere footsteps between
There is silence here
the kind of quiet that sinks into a soul
rhythmic and wild and
pulsing with life
Elusive in worlds shared with forced air furnaces
and TV's
If mittened hands clasped tight
and roughened beards against smooth cheeks cannot be heard
then what more are we missing?
There is silence here

Tuesday, 9 December 2014

Have you seen
amongst this square and empty screen
the thoughts? Bouncing and careening off the walls, then
floating by on whispy clouds
Nothing has been tangible
No cohesive joining together in a way to tell you
how I am
what I've been up to
(you'd have to come to tea for that)
I would miss this place
except for that its make believe
Devised space to create the illusion of connection
which it does in its own way
(I cannot argue that)
More than missing this space
I miss the block of text
the current date stamp
A sort of to do list checked off for a chunk of time.
And I miss the words
 and then yours
weaving together and blending
becoming snapshots of moments
A photo album of moods.