Keira McArthur

In the corner of my well-collected room there is a gilded chair, with cushions of soft cedar green. I observe both chair and my pleasure in it, thinking how odd it is to have something right there in my room so finely made that the gilding is not ostentatious, but appropriate. I do not sit in […]

I’m in my socks on a quiet street in the old section of town, pulling goutweed out of the garden.  It’s early on an idyllic spring morning, full of bees and growth, flowers and a gentle cool breeze.  A starling, harsh and insistent, comments on my weeding.  I explain that in the ecosystem of my tiny […]

The sense of openness continues long after Irene has gone to bed and been piped out of the park.  It’s as though the parade brought them home here through our house – Sarah Slean, Royal Wood, Oscar Lopez, the Lemon Bucket Orchestra, The Rwandan guys, The Powerful Women from New Zealand, The MacKenzie Blues Band […]

…trees like green walls out every window, on every floor.  This happened suddenly, when the ash leaves opened – about 3 weeks ago.  Now the air tastes still and green and humid-heavy, builds in a dark blustering crash to thundering rain on our metal roof, then abates and burns with full sun again.  Even the […]

It’s as good a time as any for reflection. 6am, still dark outside in the northern hemisphere. I sit at the downstairs table beside a pinging wood stove.  It’s beaming heat onto the cat, who’s a puddle of contentment. We began this house project in 2006 with the enthusiasm and energy of young saplings reaching […]