SNOWFLAKES FALLING

It's early November, the 9th to be exact. I'm sitting in my studio looking out on the world. Snowflakes are falling. I catch myself humming, "Oh Happy Days", sarcastically of course, not as it was meant, as what I'm looking out on is the beginning of winter, six months of cold miserable weather before the crocus and daffodils bloom. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wv5n_eCGkvM

Now, I can be forgiven for this bit of blasphemy as I've suffered 70 plus years of the white stuff. Endless shovelling. Of course, some of those years, those of my youth, weren't all about hating snow, and a seemingly everlasting winter. There were times when I enjoyed playing in the snow, but then I grew up, got old. For many of the elderly winter in Canada can be downright miserable, and involve long periods of isolation. Getting out and about runs the danger of slipping and falling, resulting in fractures from which, often, there's no coming back. So, more often than not many of the elderly sit quietly and wonder...................

The Winter Of My Life.

One snowy morning 

late in the winter of my life

while watching snowflakes falling

I found myself musing.

Will I see the willows bloom,

will I see the geese fly home,

Will I hear the robin sing,

or will I,

before the warmth of spring, 

go home?

Will my parents,

sister,

my family one and all,

be there to greet me,

or will my soul,

my very being 

fade?

Will I be but a memory,

fleeting at best,

before

eternal rest?

All questions unanswered,

as I watch 

the snowflakes falling

on our garden wall.

EAS

If there's something positive to say about winter I have to say that it allows one time to think one's youth and of time spent........

 It’s the first of January 2016. It’s growing dusk. It’s snowing and its cold.

Across the street the neighbours 10 year old is slapping pucks into an empty net. 

It reminds me of when I was young, so many years ago. I’m skating on the rink that Mr. Brooks      made at Sixth Street Public School, my school, it’s dark, it’s snowing lightly, and it’s really cold. I don’t notice the cold and the darkness because I’m living a dream. I’m the Rocket, Rocket Richard. I’m wearing the Montreal Canadian hockey sweater and I’m skating before a cheering crowd. Stick handling the puck down the ice I slap a blazing shot into the boards. Then, in the distance I hear my mother call for me to get home for supper! But it’s not my mother, it’s my wife of 50 years, and then I’m back in my study writing, and the neighbour’s boy has gone in the house, and the dreams of two boys will have to wait until tomorrow.

And so, it begins......... 

WINTER

Cold, 

gale force

winds from off the Bay

toss

white capped waves,

onto wind swept shores.

In the forest leaves flutter,

and blow away.

Flurries drift

from a stormy sky,

and cling to wind-shaped pines.

Birds hide in sheltered places.

Ice forms on standing water.

A setting sun breaks through the clouds,

and sinks below a grey horizon.

Darkness descends.

All grows silent.

Winter is on the way.

EAS

First Painting - Birch Stump with Snow     Watercolour

Downy Woodpecker   Watercolour Painting

Red-breasted Nuthatch with Snow covered White Pine   Watercolour

  

A MEMORY SPENT

Stormy Day - Lake Superior Provincial. Park      Graphite Drawing

NOVEMBER 3, 2018

Early this morning, 

early that is for me,

I went outside and stood,

enjoying the freshness of a November morning. 

The air was cold, and was tinged 

with the smell of wood smoke. 

Signs that warned that winter would soon,

too soon for me, 

make its unwanted appearance. 

My mind wandered for the moment,

back to a similar morning years ago, 

spent sketching at Old Woman Bay,

up Lake Superior way.

It was cold that morning as well. In fact 

it had snowed, 

not much,

just a few flurries. The wind 

coming off of the lake

was bitter cold. Still, I

 had no choice,

I had come to sketch, and

sketch I must. So,

I pulled out my sketchbook, and

sitting at the side of Old Woman River, 

with the waves roaring onto Superior’s shore,

I made a sketch. 

Sketch made,

fingers frozen,

I stumbled to my feet,

brushed the sand from my jeans, and

sought shelter. 

A memory well spent,

I went inside, found my sketchbook,

and once again

found my way home.  

Old Woman River         Pen & Ink Field Sketch

Old Woman River - Lake Superior Provincial. Park      Pen & Ink Drawing

SEA OF GREEN

The Climb

The climb was long,

I’m growing old,

my legs are weary.

I rest high up, 

and lookout over

an endless sea of green,

trees joined together in a silence 

overwhelming.

I wonder their experience,

sensed with eyes unseeing.

Prisoners of their world,

what do they think,

what do they say?

I’ve been here before,

but not in a dream,

and had thoughts much the same.

I remember that I sat on a rock,

and sketched out a scene.

I remember the silence,

the quiet,

the peace of it all.

A breeze stirs the leaves.

The wind strengthens,

and the sky turns shades of grey.

A storm is on the way.

Raven calls,

and is answered.

The silence broken,

I stumble down the rocky trail,

a prisoner of my dream,

into the sea of green.

EAS 2018