No Snow….

There is no snow,

in my part of Ontario

There is no snow,
on the beach.
Just a dike,
of crusty 
white ice.

Sand on the street. 
Brown streets.
Not white.

Beauty,
in the browns,
the blues, 
the greys.
And every shade
in between.

The Fearless Chick-a-Dee

A chick-a-dee

lands

On an out stretched

hand.

Confident,

Bold,

Self assured.

A human friend

Among the flock.

In a treetop,

down on the

ground.

It peeks,

and it peeks,

at the seeds,

inside.

A suspended

perch,

above

the ground.

Dew drops, and Rain Drops

Raindrops,
like dew drops,
glitter
on the ground.

They sparkle
and
they shimmer.

They don't make a sound.

Water for spiders,
for bugs,
and for flies.

For beetles, 
for slugs,
and bees
near their hives.

Gathered like lace,
their patterns 
sublime.

Beautifully placed
in the swirling 
abyss
of time.

Water….

water ebbs
water flows
over fingers
over toes

it washes your face
it cleanses your soul
leaving a trace
making you whole

it swims through your mind
it tickles your feet
it makes you smile
at those you meet

I love it
as water
I love it
as ice

water
it waters the world
making 
everything right

Looking Between the Trees…

The things you see, when you look between the trees, is sort of like. Reading between the lines.

The Colours of Black River Wilderness Park

A 180 acre park, Black River Wilderness Park is owned and operated by the Chippewas of Rama First Nations.

The different colours of the Black River

On the red trail, or was it the yellow one, or maybe the green trail? No, I think it was the blue trail.

The Black River, moving it’s way throughout the park.

On this last day of the season, the tents and the RVs have left the grounds. A single campfire fills the air with an earthy smell of smoke.

Mossy Monday

Where the fairies dance the night away….

Moody Monday

Sheer happiness, my granddaughter and I!

The Tree Museum…take one

In the midst of our great Canadian landscape, amongst the trees, and the lakes, and the rocks, we discovered The Tree Museum.

Just follow the little blue arrows, and the little blue signs. After a kilometer, or two, and you will happen upon the entrance to the Tree Museum.

Before the entrance, God has his work on display.

A mailbox contains a guest book. We left our names among the rest of the worldly travelers who have discovered this beautiful retreat into the wilderness.

A home away from home. Complete with a fireplace and natural air conditioning.

Having just recently recovered from a bout of covid19, I started this outing a little overconfident in my level of fitness and endurance, so we are leaving the rest of tour for a different day.

We have so much more to explore!

June Flowers

Who is the poet of the flower?
The answer changes by the hour.

Petals of
     blue,
          and of white,
              and of pink.

The scent of  the flower,
Cause the poet to think.

The stem,
The stalk,
Where in
The flower's beauty 
Locks.

Grown
In sand, and soil,
And rock.

God's paint brush 
Moves,
With grace and ease.

Beauty, found and sought.