No Snow….

There is no snow,

in my part of Ontario

Only the distant hills are white.
There is no snow,
on the beach.
Just a dike,
of crusty
white ice.
Sand on the street.
Sand on the street. 
Brown streets.
Not white.
Sand, ice,
water.
Beauty,
in the browns,
the blues,
the greys.
And every shade
in between.

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

The Colours of Black River Wilderness Park

Reflections

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

The beauty of rock, wood, and water.
The different colours of the Black River
Enjoying the view….
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 an island….

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.

The beauty of autumn!

The Tree Museum…take one

Faces in the forest

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

A well marked trail.

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.

Nature at it’s best

Before the entrance, God has his work on display.

Light and shadows
Entrance to The Tree Museum

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.

Metal meets rocks and trees
Above the metal, rock on rocks.
Keeper of the forest..
A home away from home. Complete with a fireplace and natural air conditioning.
The list of contributing artists.

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!

The beauty that surrounded us.

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.