We have dispersed ourselves in these months – one flown deeply into Japan, another more briefly to Rome.
Two others ventured first into the textured lakes and rivers of Northern Ontario, then into the island of Manhattan, prickled with concrete. Another flown away away into young Toronto, where she is given kittens by young attractive bearded males, drafting lessons at university, tiny front yard gardens along the streets.
More than two of us have become our own anthropologist, digging into intensely private places where good work can be done, if one has the courage.
One or two of us has moved back into a place that should be comfortingly familiar, but is decidedly… not so.
I have sat myself deeply in the saddle of this studio, and traveled far on a journey that will never end, now. The view from here is incredible, and terrifying.
Each of us quite decidedly alone with ourselves in these places; it is inevitable that we fall in the dark sometimes, without witnesses.
As Thanksgiving approaches, so do we – a fire, a waterfall, a shorline, a long, candlelit table. Miss the ones who cannot come, witness the Change, walk together to the Falls in the Dark.
Happy Canada Thanksgiving everyone.