Indications

I wake among the starlings, deep inside their morning discussion, which centres mostly on comings and goings.  It’s a boisterous, cultural ballyhoodle, ritualized by the turning of the year. Starlings time their arrivals and departures here to the spring and fall equinox, just as we do our school years, our arts industry seasons, interesting.  I adore starlings, always have.  Their fall flight patterns – great clouds of them sharing one mind – are I think called murmurations. I hope I have that right, since that’s such a good and appropriate word.

BackDeckAugust

The vast, over populated ship of daily life turns slowly.  All events, micro choices, adjustments in thinking, new levels of perception are the increments of propulsion that churn it around the long curve of change.  For me, September is the moment when I look up and realize that there is an unfamiliar horizon both ahead and behind – always a moment of new understanding, a realization of the weight and measure of the year just passed. Heavy, light, compressed, expanded – the strata of the whole year, visible in one stacked moment of time.

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Bon Echo lies on a fault-line.  The Group of Seven painted there, Walt Whitman wrote there at a time 100+ years ago when it was a cultural retreat for artists.  Magnificent old grandfather cliffs rise as the result of a fault, and continue to rise each year.  What an honour it was, to see and hear them.

ShoreAug

Georgian Bay lies past the outer rim of the Michigan Bowl, the centre of which continues to sink every year, which in turn pushes the outer escarpment rim up, incrementally.  Nobody knows why this is so – not a fault, but a very old and ongoing geological ‘event’ that began when this part of the world was an ocean.  The rock that is pushed upward is in fact the bones of the sea creatures who swam here where I walk.

Faults and bowls and bones.  Oceans of time in one tiny summer.

RoofSunsetwPainting

It cooled down enough to paint in the last week of August.  We drove to Toronto and tasted friendship, then to Ottawa to install the fledged daughter into University, all in the space of five days.

The moment of stillness, of recognition that horizons have quite permanently changed stretches on, until we’ve had our fill of watching time, of bearing witness.

Shore2Aug

The starlings know.  Comes a time, close to every fall equinox, when you leap off the branch and begin the work of a new season.

Soon, soon.

Since Now Began

in this place

between eclipse and equinox

there is zero gravity

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before now started

there was a certain weightedness

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planned routines

ritualed paths

weighted thoughts, articulate

well crafted pauses

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since now began there’s

the sense of being drawn-

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an animated character

in a beloved story, drawn out.

Danger here, but not much

in the beautiful line of perpetual today

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But there is a whisp, a

taste of discomfort like

the memory of rootedness

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the memory of solid illusion

of knowing what next. 

And then this,  and then.. what,  then?

Shouldn’t I be more….?

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But no. 

Not in the between time.

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Choices like onion skins that

veil the centre but follow its curve

each the result of the one before

covering more and more while

the sleeping centre

wants dark for its’ becoming

dark and wet and warming

Calmer seas

In honour of the obscure fact that the equinox sun will be square to a little-known planet called Narcissus this Sunday, I spent an entire evening being as narcissistic as possible.  I examined ten years of journals, poetry and photos, the nice way my fingernails grow, the diversity of engaging and informative titles of the books on my shelves here, my excellent sense of colour and form, some of the mighty things I have accomplished in my lifetime which have led to the SEVEN excellent interrelated projects I currently have on the table.  Oh,  and my persistence at keeping them alive and breathing and developing over the years.  The World is so lucky to have me.

Soundtrack:  Carl Orff, Carmina Burana.

Then The Dutilleux String Quartet Playing Ainsi la Nuit.

I did did get bored a few times.  Then I found things like this (thank you Michael McLuhan):

What does a dyslexic, agnostic, insomniac spend most of his time doing?
Staying up all night wondering if there really is a dog. 

This somehow gave me strength to go on…..

which I did for as long as possible until I put myself to sleep.

Jerusalem Artichoke flower, which reminds me of... me.
A beautiful Jerusalem Artichoke flower, which reminds me of… me!

The upshot is that oddly, this was good to do.

I think more of us should celebrate our greatness, with just ourselves.  Just for the heck of it.

Thanks Narcissus,

K

Now I’ll take the garbage to the dump.