light this spring

one of the things

that keeps startling me this spring

is the light

 it's everywhere!

i'd forgotten.

(last winter was serious business.)

light plays reflection games

 near and far

 so do the geese

 and a tiny primitive painting 

 displayed at the deli

 near school

others are watching the ladies, too,

not just me.

 and besides the mouse trouble here

(caught this morning, yay!)

there is chipmunk trouble!

but

 some people plant themselves

where they're welcome--

i think--they may not be bluebirds--

birders?

 and on the way home the geese

 seem to be pairing up and prepping

for some goslings.

i'm decidedly not a foodie

but i like to eat.

i used to have a wee flock of 

dairy goats

and made cheese and milked daily and

even sold a bit.

i like the idea of being able 

to eat from your place

just the way i know the land where i live

the plants mostly.

i love my hortus siccus that continues

as i explore the wild garden called home.

anyway. 

kathleen rose smith's book 

is something i'm enjoying.

it feels good in my hands. i love it when

machine made books feel right in my hands.

~~~

there have been some little snippets of news:

i'm going to be a student again,

taking a class with someone i've long admired:

dorothy caldwell!

just think: tim ely AND dorothy caldwell in one season!

and

i will be adding two teaching gigs to my list

one near algonquin park this summer

another for university students

early next spring.

what the camera saw

 in the evening's golden surprise

 between showers, cloudscapes, snowmelt gurgling

the light was long and 

 there was a reminder that this walk 

is now mine alone.

there was a trickster surprise on the roadside, too

left by a border collie with a sense of humor,

not a print, something more present

than absent.

but,

then the geese surprised me

quieter than in fall, but in huge flocks.

later

i went out to listen, flushed a white tail,

but didn't hear

woodcock, peepers.

yet.

turning

the land has turned her face towards autumn

this week,

i shut windows at night

to keep in the warm

wake to a chilly scarf

draped over my face

my open bedroom window

 reaching into the recent past

letting in the cool

so happy as summer winds down. 

 light and shade

layers 

on the hill meadow

where sheep and the mare called flame

used to pasture.

and smiling susans

today i have much to do

or nothing

as it pleases me.

i love rare days like this.

old barn in winter

 i was talking with my son

ian

today about our old barn

 it's a place full 

of memories

for us all

but ian, somehow,

who never seemed to love it then

loves it terribly

now he is so far away

 so these little plays 

with sunshine and shadow

wendy and me

are for him

we know how you miss this place

and love this building

and respect it's spirit

and this is a place 

i'm learning a bit about

on a very cold

biting cold

almost open

 north country day

lightening

all day

lightening

darkening

changes dancing, trudging

tonight across the west

weathervane held the light

orb drifted

to the barn's topline

then vanished

fortune siezed this globe

a glass left 

from long ago to

warn: lightening!

lightening.

beware.

beready.