OCTOBER 16. FOG AND THE LETHARGIC CHILL.

to those early risers. to the ones who find joy in the morning light when the warmth of your bed is not strength enough to hold you in it. to coffee and the awake. to the birds who still sing with cloud sitting low, enchanting the air and enticing us from our homes. to moving swiftly across rocks and water, to the colours of life growing and glowing under and above water. to the goats. to the climb and the (water)fall. to the dip and the rise, of our paddles and the fog.

to the bears on the shore. to the salmon, to their capture and to their escape.

to the sluggish movement of two dead birds, cooked slowly and enjoyed four nights over.

to lightening up.

 

PARIS, 19.29

I feel like writing about paris, or maine or madison county and its bridges, but I know little to nothing about any of them and have only been to one.

so what seems like a date from time, is merely a decade, 19-29, with each year feeling like ten, and those years leading up to it?

many lives we’ve led.

what person are you now? can you connect with that little boy or girl of your childhood?

I try to, often.

I remember asking myself at about age ten(and probably many other times), what will the man look like? what will he do? how will he be seen and accepted, and see and accept? so that little boy grew and at 19, he thought, here comes that man. but then came the early to mid twenties, and that man was put on hold, because, though those years are a lot about learning, the majority of them, for me, were about wasting. and circumstance may have led to that, but with that wasting I came to be here, me, now. where learning is once again a conscious state and I can sift through the tangled twenties to that blushing boy and we can see each others warm faces and I can say to him.

here he is.

this is the one you wondered about, this is the explorer, the bird watcher, the propelled buoy who sees the way you did, who looks through the magnifying glass at each intricate limb, questioning and discovering,

this is you. 

OCTOPUS 9TH.

moon jellies, so many so that it seemed we were paddling on a sea of jellyfish, that had water floating around in it. with every dip, they would swirl around the paddle as it was slowly dragged through the water, this forced us to slow down, paddle cautiously, and reproduce the awe which we had just been practicing in a very close encounter with a banana slug who was devouring a mushroom with pure sensuality in some fast paced moss.

pace, and relearning the concept. no need to rush into old age, a place that some who are close to me would promise i have arrived at. but i catch myself wanting to rush, walk swiftly, on to the next great experience. eat fast, drink fast, speak fast.

i am thinking slowly. there is a large sum of thought, but i’m going through each of them as honestly and thoroughly as i know how, like the slug moving its strange mouth across the base of the mushroom, knowing that it will eventually eat the piece it has just stickily sucked past, it eats the piece next to it, saving the felt out bits for later, when time allows.

still, people ride my ass. will i ever find a place where i can drive 30km/hr on the highway? sure i will, and i’m getting close. really, there’s no need to rush it.

bluegrass in one of my many living rooms. thank god for live music.

and coffee.

sorry guts.

 

SEW IT’S SEAMS.

my brother.

bear.

le loup solitaire.

though alone, you are not.

I remember the bottom of the valley,

it was a low place

It seemed there were no paths which lead to the mountains tops

which were so high, so far away.

and we lingered there in the shadows

feeling out our way

butting heads in the dark hours.

and if the valley seemed low, I feel like I dug into the ground at one point in search of a way out.

we are of the same blood, and the heart which contains it.

I hated the disconnection, but I tried to force myself to accept it.

but there was light, and when the valley became too cold, too bare

we knew we had to climb.

my brother, I am sorry.

but I am so grateful, that we climbed and though we climbed different bluffs, we arrived at the same peak.

I am humbled.

proud to stand next to you, high up, and feel the warmth on our skin, in our hearts and through our veins.

many times I did not tell you, when it was so simple and very much needed

I love you.

 

OCTOBER 7TH. YEESH.

ancient ruins.

sinking sediment settles

billowing sentiment.

led into life on a romantic’s dream

I have your heart.

sure to be strong, I know my mind.

fourth child, never gone.

you wanted me, but gave me away, knowing you had to, and when.

you saw that passage.

your last heart beats, slow and struggled,

stopped.

the strong heart, so weak.

still beats.

always trying to escape.

my ribcage is too tight.

I remove my heart from my chest, still connected

these ships refuse my cargo, sent back to shore.

this heart attack is too soft

to fear.

to love

I see you.

 

MILE 0.

the most westwardly point of the 1.

tucked down between large timber fingers, drifted and tumbled.

left for another high tide

crossed like an otto dix.

my body finds the curves of a weathered boulder and i sit hidden from the passers on the ogden breakwater.

port side, seasick. shore leave. leave shore, clouds sit low on a calm strait.

mountains peaked with snow boast toward a strewn layer of dense smokey blues.

sailboats troll past, empty masted.

gulls cry though the brisk setting.

my stomach clenches and i close my watery eyes.

pebbles of sea glass roll around in my back pocket.

step lightly.

 

AH, today october third degree.

to the four men who drunkenly tried to commandeer my canoe from my truck in the dark of the night , you all seemed very real. maybe we have met, somewhere along the road, your puffy vests and loose jeans. it was p.a.t who gave you away, her length was off and her hull too flat and shallow. why did I imagine you? approaching my home and cutting my lines. touching my freedom and hoping to steal it away, i'll keep you in the corner of my thought, i'll know your reality and I will be wary of you, but I will not fear you. you cannot have me.

the leaves are turning on the number four.

 

roll call.

it was a lot of rain, and sun and movement. it was so much more than that. it was warm. it was wet and the colours ran, wild and contained. there were clouds that had never ending depth.

it was a perfect event. that time, it lasted forever. the air was as pure as air could possibly be. I feel every particle of my soul gasping, pushing through my pores, pushing back there.

I know this. I know my being.

and my mind just kind of scrambles in rhythm.

contently, unconsciously, aware.

how then continuously warms, like the sun, regardless of cloudy skies.

and when the roll is called up yonder, you know I'll be there. 

storm the beach. sept still.

radar, twisting roots and dams of mud, fresh water flows over smooth and jagged rocks, life dripping life around us as we slosh down the soupy path toward the beach. this, the place which may have first sparked a coveted return. where in april we sat in the sun and sand, disconnected from the busy world east of us, with more than just a thick forest and jutting hill guarding us from its existence, backs turned, facing west, south west. watching oystercatchers glide across the bay, this the only place I have ever seen one.

and again, today, we watched them cautiously fly from one sheltered point to another, avoiding the crashing surf and short spats of rain.  yes, there was a storm, raging, somewhere, but we were seeing spots of blue sneaking from behind the clouds and as we ate our sandwiches on the rocks, watching a small seal flounder in the waves, the sun even attempted to shine on us.

now as I listen to the wind which has picked up the rain and begun to throw it about, now these sounds which keep us indoors, they make me smile, for they've taken the night,  but given us the day.

sept 29. jake's day.

I was fortunate enough to be raised in a home with five amazing women.

these women taught me.

strength.

beauty.

wisdom.

as a young man I was not as aware of the greatness of these women, as I am now.

and as I grew I separated myself from them, as I have once again.

but no matter where I was, they always cared for me as they did while I as fluttering around under their protective wings,

now with age at our heels, I feel their care and love more than I ever have, my respect for them growing each day.

I am proud to stand beside them, to see them overcome and to nourish new life and strength into this world

to my mother I give thanks, for she is the power that lifts our sails, and your daughters dear mom, oh your daughters.

these women of grace. these women of awe. these women of pure heart.

these women are my heroes.

aujourd'hui.un autre jour. automne

watching waves

push back days

beach walkers

the gull's reflections disappearing into the sand

I climb along the rocks and sit facing the horizon

south west

flat lining breaks

heart beats heavily, crashing against the rocks

sea weed sifters, blissful explorers, the ocean brings salt on the cheek and calm.

calm interaction, soft smiling, tide dodgers.

we breath each other, me the sea and the sea me.

my thoughts stretch out with the tide and collect in the waves.

pushing back days.

today, fall the third... the fresh child, the young heart.

flight

flight

Approx. two months ago, I left that province, and I moved east. I left behind worn out boots and worn out schedules and ideas. i left behind an old man and gained a new child. i walked and i waited, i had company, and i had solitude. i felt growth but i knew i was moving in the wrong direction, literally, geographically, personally.

a young tree will sprout from the ground and grow toward the sun, toward light, and if you build a roof over it, it may briefly lose sight of the sun,  it will not stray from its destiny, but become merely side tracked. continually searching for light it will grow sideways and push around the new obstacle and soon it will be moving straight towards the sky again. this sideways movement will be visible for the rest of the tree's life but it will not stop it from growing. and in old age that tree will have lived a long and crooked life, but it will be strong and happy. it will feed the air around it and give to new life in the ground.

i am not a tree,(not yet) but i look to the trees for inspiration.

now, sitting in the warm home of some old friends in a new town on some old rock, the far reaches of the west coast of my home land, i feel new, i feel happy, and i am thankful for the crooked times and the rays of light that have kept me pushing forward. this path is righteous.

leaves, no worry for the wind.

wind, no worry to the leaves.

sincerely, your friend, your brother, your son. dr.

(post script. Ram.bo has been shining like the sun!)

today, is today. the first day of the last month of summer. cold ground pt. 1

haven't quite made it out of bed yet, truth is, after promising myself to take full advantage of this luxury upon returning from my cold ground camping tour with the pigeon on the canadian shield, i really havent given myself the full pleasure of getting to sleep at some reasonable hour, sleeping the full night, and waking slowly to spending a couple hours in bed, i've tried mind you, but i'll be damned if my mind doesn't find some reason for me to frantically jump out of bed after the first three or four clear thoughts make an evident pass on my sloth tissue. so here i am, in bed, where most good writing occurs(mine anyway), apparently painting too, i read somewhere recently that picasso used to work from bed, which is a task fit for a kid, i haven't any coffee or eggs to warm me, and my window is closed so i cannot hear the birds singing the sun into the day, you see, the mind coaxes me out, and soon i'll need to use the toilet. ah, skype rings, an old friend from montreal, she is now on the island of the western coast and is telling me she is going to make coffee and food, but the truth is i wait now for another call, maybe the truest reason to stay where i am, and with this call i will have reached a pleasurable amount of time, spent productively in bed, i win brain...one hour passed, there the call which was maybe thought to be a quick hello, good morning, blessed be your day and so, but the world is a vast place and sparks much concern, therefore we discuss it. i'm going to get some coffee and eggs. more on the cold ground soon, more on birds, especially the pigeon.

dressed like a ragin bull. today is thoughts of the cardinals.

the small dog on my floor , pacing and shaking, the sky just opened, bellowed and left, she hates that. i love it. the trees out front of the house have shed their white blossoms and are green and full of birds. magpies and crows, one of which i had to pluck from its perch, sparrow eaters. but those cardinals, they have left the nest and sure enough flown west. maybe even floated that way, which is more likely, on a river of amber smoke. i kinda just keep going here, and havent stopped to think about the hole you two left in the floor and the silence that now drifts through it. i have to say my drinking has been cut at least 40% since your departure, i say this in regret i suppose, but my old age may thank me. in lifes fullness, i place our time, experience and friendship among the thickest of pleasures. to see you grow in comfort and knowledge of yourselves and your music will be something i hope to remember and share with my grandchildren or someone else's at least. the heavy notes which you had to depart on were cruel, unfortunate and undeserved, i speak of lane of course.  Al, i know the strength is there for you and he and your family to overcome and im sure  it is already happening. my heart is thankful for you both, and until we meet again, which we will soon,for anything you gotta do, you do. im going to get mildly drunk tonight. jasmine and alex, my love for you is like an old hat, it smells, its dirty, and it fits like an old hat, perfectly.

your friend in arms,
dr.

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