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Showing posts with label travelling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travelling. Show all posts

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Travelling Again




I'm on the road and in the air today, heading to Long Island, New York to visit my daughter and  her family.   I'm looking forward to seeing all of them today.  

Oh yes, today is the day.  

So far, my flights are still on time and going.

Send me off with wishes for good weather, or at least good enough to be able to fly.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Writing The Journey



Start where you are.
This is good advice, practical, logical ... and difficult.
When I think about where I want to be as a writer, I know it is far from where I am now.  I want to be a poet, published and well-known.  I want to be a writer, published and respected.  These destinations seem as far as another world, a planet on the farthest side of a galaxy light-years away.
I worry.  What if I never get to my destination?  What if my writing is mediocre?  What if I never reach book publication?  Perhaps this is procrastination.  If I don’t try, I won’t fail.  I have excuses.  But still I write.  I write knowing that all I can do is start where I am and work.
It is practical.  Writing practise will improve my skills.  It is logical.  Writing from where I am and who I am and what I know is the only beginning possible.  It is difficult; but it is possible.  Surely it is possible.
Daily, I show up at my blank page and write.  Some days are flowing and fruitful.  Some days are flowing and flawed.  Some writing, upon second reading, objective reading, turns out to be crap, perhaps compost or fuel for another day.  Some days soar.  That’s the way it goes.
Reaching the planet of published poetry and prose is far off, but still I travel, dancing the light-years, pencil in hand.
Is it simply about the journey?  Perhaps.  And perhaps that alone is enough to justify the work.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Phases of Autumn


Phases of Autumn

In the past two weeks, I’ve experienced three different phases of autumn.


Here in Riverview, leaves have been changing for weeks.  Trees are brilliant with fiery colours, the harvest moon hangs heavy and low in the evening sky, gardens are dying, preparing for rest.



North of here, in Quebec, the season is farther along.  Many trees are bare.  White birch stands stark against the remaining foliage, much of it blown off and crunchy, lying colourful on the bed of earth.




South of here, on Long Island New York, autumn has hardly begun.  This dogwood tree is one of the first to change into its delicate rosy hue.  Everything else is still verdant and lush.



Travelling this time of the year provides glorious scenery and awe-inspiring vistas.  It reminds me: everywhere landscapes, life-styles, priorities and perspectives are as varied as the stages of autumn.  Different from what I call home.  Different from what I know.  It is good to be stretched and to acclimatize to other ways of being and living.  And it’s good to be home again!