Celebrating every little gift, every single day.

Monday, 8 August 2016

Weeds and Wishes

"Disgusting!" he thought
as he stood at the edge of a vacant lot
littered with garbage 
and carpeted in dandelion clocks.
Food wrappers,
empty bottles,
an abandoned shopping cart,
and - in the far corner, under a tree -
a makeshift camp,
empty now, but someone's home.
He saw only the dandelion heads.
"Damn weeds!," he exclaimed.
"There must be a thousand of them there!
Just think what they'll do to our lawn!"
"No, Daddy!" a small voice replied,
"There must be a thousand wishes there.
I hope they all come true"

Tuesday, 15 March 2016

In Springtime

In springtime
every hedgerow is alive with birdsong;
every heart,
the beating wings of hope.

Friday, 20 June 2014

A Small Life

I lead a small life,
some would say,
and yet,
within it's confines,
each and every day,
a thousand miracles
come my way.

Friday, 6 June 2014

The Month of Roses

is the month of roses here,
when all the landscape 
gives way
to romance.

In the last weeks of May
every wild roadside,
every field's fence line
is tangled 
with wild rose

and honeysuckle,

their scent sweetening the air
and whispering
"June is coming!"

June's first days 
bring a blooming.

Every garden,
whether ordered and perfect
or tangled and cottage-y
boasts at least
a rose 
or two.

From bowered climbers
to tiny floribundas
clustered sweetly together,

From perfect 
tea roses

to blousy, 
old-fashioned darlings,

From sleek elegance

to girly ruffles,

they reach,
with sweet scents
and thorny fingers
and draw us in
with reminders 

of summer,

of romance,

of beauty,

of love.

Friday, 23 May 2014

Daisies by the Roadside

When I was a child,
not so ruled by clocks and calendars
the first white daisies on the roadside
said summertime to me.

I picked those daisies by the armful.

Mom smiled and thanked me for the gift
despite the bugs who came along for the ride.

I put them in jars of coloured water,
and watched, fascinated,
as they drank deeply and changed before my eyes.

Daisy chains sufficient to circle the globe
were woven beneath cloud-drift, sunlit skies.

There were other things too:

Wild roses twined with honeysuckle
grazed by does through wire fences,
wobbly-legged fawns with dappled white coats
hidden in the shade nearby,

Birds singing in the dark an hour before sunrise,
and bats taking wing in evening skies,

Mild morning air
making bare-legged bike rides
for the first time not a punishment,


then and still,

white daisies by the roadside
say summertime to me.

Friday, 25 April 2014

Quiet Pleasures

Spring often wakes late here
- sleeping through her alarm clock -
then jumps out of bed
drawing her brightly coloured shawl around her,
runs out the door
strewing blossoms all around
in glorious disarray.

So enchanted are we
by her blousy blossoms,

her bright tulips,

her sweet pansies,
and forget-me-nots,

that we sometimes overlook
the quiet aspects of her charm


while she is rushing by,

tender ferns are unfurling
in the darkling wood.

Tiny creatures are exploring.

Shy fawn lilies 
are hiding
under maple trees

who are, 
in their turn, 
hiding blooms
among the sweet tender-green
 of new leaves.

Even the streams are blessed
with the transient jewelry
of blossom confetti,
strewn upon their waters.

They are waiting.

Sunday, 2 March 2014

White on White

Snow falls but rarely here,
and when it does,
stop each other on the street
to lament its inconvenience.

But I am grateful 

for the beauty
of white on white,

for still church yards,
by passers-by,

for country views
as quiet
as a whisper,

for wild rose hips
wearing winter caps,

for strong arbutus trees
raising rust-hued branches
toward the snow-greyed skies,

 and for yellow-ochre willow twigs
shouting defiantly
that Spring is on the way.

So brief,
these still, white moments,
so transient,
so sweet.
I am grateful

for each and every one.