Here’s what i’ve got the energy to do as far as beauty.

Walk.  See.  Breathe (usually.)
This is enough.

Beautiful things.

Birds on a wire the other bright morning, when the air was a confusing, familiar combination of crisp and smoky from farmers’ fields burning, like always a third of the way into September.
I love sparrows.



Also, breathtakingly, this:



And finally this just because it is so gd beautiful.



A foggy, already-Fall morning, and thick steam lifts up off the giant river that moves through this city.

We are so tiny, we little souls, and this world is so gigantic, charged, and powerful.
And it is holding us.

A remembering:  fog is beautiful.  Clarity is not an all-the-time thing.

Sept 2.

Someone said you’ve got to believe in something, even if it’s burritos.
Who said this?  And how badly am i paraphrasing?

I’ve been thinking about what i believe today, as things are changing and i get disoriented easily.  I usually always believe in resurrection, but that’s not the theme right now, so.

I believe in the truth rolling itself out for all to see when you give it a little space.
(I believe too that the stories don’t always line up, but the truth is there nonetheless, in the middle place where all the stories are connected.)
And that it’s good idea to look for truth with the eyes of one’s heart.

I believe the universe is unfolding as it should.

I believe that we’re taken care of.

I believe in the value of a hard path.
I believe in the path of least resistance sometimes, too.
And that our hearts are directed to the right one at the right time.

In the act of lifting a wounded heart up to the light to have it heal.  In the practice of opening it up, wounded and mangled and beautiful and all; an invitation into the glorious goriness of really living.

I believe in growth, and that it’s painful sometimes usually and that we are stronger than we think.

I believe in the middle ground.  I don’t know how to get there sometimes, but if you give me really specific directions, i’ll meet you there.  I promise.

I believe in love.

I believe we can make it through anything.  That sounds like resurrection.  Maybe i believe in resurrection again!
I don’t believe in the healing power of tears.  It might be true, but it also might be true that opening floodgates just keeps them coming forever.  I haven’t tested this out enough to see.  But I believe in the other salty cures;  the sea and sweat.

I believe in bald eagles.  I’ve seen one three times in the past two weeks, right in the city.  How could you not believe in that?  I believe i’d like to know what the significance of that is, if it’s anything.

I believe in the timelessness and spacelessness of everything, so you are right here with me now.  Hi.

And i believe in the prairie, of course, still, especially in a thunderstorm, especially in Autumn.











I didn’t honk.

The instructions were confusing.

I had a nice coffee and some hope and a heart full of love and what more can you ask for?

After stopping to take a little photo on this weird late summer afternoon, with its diffused sky and the humid gusts of prairie air, I hit the road in silence.

the prairie (ode to, edition three hundred)



behind by several weeks, craving sun-drenched august days, soaked in the aftermath of way-too-much-rain and scrambling after that late, late start.  yeah right; the prairie doesn’t scramble.

taking its time:  being beautiful and in transition.

and on its way to yellow, hopefully.

i have so much love (understanding) for a late bloomer,
respect for the prairie’s patience.


When introverts create…

DSC_4350 DSC_4346 I have recently become completely enamoured with the Forks,  as well as the walk i get to walk to pass through there.  It’s the perfect-sized loop and passes by all kinds of little worlds.  If you’re lucky and walk from your house through the loop, you get to pass over three (!) bridges which all have completely different flavours, see a bald eagle very low and very giant (the other day), and a million geese, a bunch of old guys sitting and looking at the water, and happy, healthy people hanging around, playing, enjoying. I especially like it in the weekdaytime when all of these are sprinkled with life brightly but calmly. And i especially like the longcut en route home, where you can pass by Cafe Postal and get a coffee or tea.  If you drink it reasonably, it will last the rest of your walk, but mine never does because they make pretty good coffee over there and i’m impatient/bad at savouring slowly/think good coffee should get drunk hot. Anyway, check out what some probably-introverts made for us to enjoy at the forks. TILT by ATLRG (Sean Radford, Chris Wiebe, and Brian Pearson) is this useable, happy exhibit along the riverbank almost at the foot of the Provencher Bridge.  The little yellow half-tents are made for idling or acting or just generally being.  And they’re great! Here’s how they describe them:  “Its movement conjures a school of fish, or a flock of birds, flitting in opposite directions, remaining as a whole.” Who doesn’t love the concept of being together, apart sometimes? It seems like it’s what our culture misses a bit of, for this introvert at least.  We have lots of time alone, we have lots of time together, but what a treat it is to be disconnected together.  Or connected, slightly apart? These tiny meeting spots, or idling spots, or playing, sleeping, reading, being spots are my new favourite Winnipeg thing. Thank you, great city.  You’re my favourite place.

flower question

photo (4)

I know.  Flower pictures.  Bo-ring.
But while walking along the river and on Lyndale Drive with Jude yesterday, we came across these flowers, and she was excited and forgot herself for a few moments and fell into gardener-love with them and is trying to figure out what they are.  We decided they’re probably poisonous because they’re so beautiful.

Do you know what these are?  Do they grow only wild and free?

grace, lost and found.

photo 3

“In the end, only three things matter:  How much you loved, how gently you lived and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”  -Not the Buddha, but someone after him.

In class this week we’ve been exploring and practicing grace.  (Like the personal kind, rather than Grace, which comes exactly right after the personal kind.)

So, grace.
Over perfection.  Over getting it right.
Over everything.

I’ve always thought it doesn’t matter what kind of huge thing you eff up, so long as you do it with some mustered up modicum of grace.  (I’m learning.)

What a relief that you don’t have to get it right.  You don’t even have to get it half-right.  You can fail completely. But stick with grace.

Unfortunately, I forgot (could i have never known?) what grace meant for me.
I mean, i would know it if i saw it.  But a prescription for it?  Define grace?  Blank stare.
I figured maybe it was an undefinable, but i tried anyway and I asked my friends to as well.

And what grace-infused responses came, I tell you.

Always, each and every one, had a blend of strength or some kind of firmness accompanied by  lightness, sweetness or ease.

Sukha Shtira Asanam.  Again and again.

Here is what i think:
grace = courage (often to do/feel/believe/trust the thing that is the most out of our comfort zone) + self-love (which spreads expansively into everyone-love, of course.)

And then?  This miraculous thing happens; we set down the things that kept us away from an infinite supply of this universe’s grace, and the universe has got us.  Isn’t that the best news ever?!

Perfection is for the birds, man.  Bring on the courageously-flawed, edge-softening, heart/face/everything-lifting, connected-to-everything, carries-you-into light,  imperfectly-steady, beautifully-messy, beautiful you-grace.


photo (2)

“Nature, time and patience are the three great physicians.” -Bulgarian Proverb

Not to be all rose-coloured-glasses or anything, but really.  Who cares what else for a moment when you are walking on crunchy, uneven, real ground, and baby ducks are learning to swim right beside you already, and you can look at this beautiful business?


little darlin, some sun.

photo 1

You know what’s great?  A string of rainy days and a home, despite the mixing of emotions, finally, to settle into.   Open windows.   A breeze that has been washed by the rains before it comes.   The gentle hopefulness of sun after a good rain.  A killer view that it only takes three staircases to get to.  Spring, in all of its exhausting, promise-of-a-new-day glory.   A newfound like of the Beatles, especially the george one.  Being called little darlin by them.  Sun coming.  And then rain and more sun.  Some ease.  And so on.

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it’s all right


photo 3

This is happening around here.
Everywhere you look!
The promise of a new day is thick in the big expansive air and it’s really energizing and a little overwhelming sometimes.  I feel like i’m on speed and like my long-winter cocoon got opened by big curious hands, slightly before i was ready.  (I know it was a long winter.  Who isn’t ready for the promise of a new day, anyway?!)
Transition is hard:)

Which lured me into the thinking of how much it sucks to resist the flow; the littlest bit of apprehension and we fall out of the current that carries us into the new season, the new experience, and the life in general.

Did you notice that a lot of people die in Spring?  I’ve always thought that they must sort of resist the flow of life, intuitively knowing that they are not meant to go through the cycle of the seasons again.  That nature honours this resistance and leaves them to their falling out of the rhythm of the life and into a different rhythm.  It’s a lot of pressure having pushy spring come around and try to get you to dance when you don’t feel like dancing, i bet.  I suspect it becomes pretty clear if it’s your time or not, when extroverted spring comes around.

So, if we are going to be in this life, like really be alive, i guess it’s our job to align with the rhythm the best we can and not resist and let spring (or winter or challenge or joy or whatever part of the cycle we’re in) carry us, even though it seems like it’s a bit over-zealous, if you ask me.

Into the flow, washing the windows, soaking in the fresh air, embracing the spring.

How ’bout you?