Saturday, January 15, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
morning chat
Sometimes talking to your Mum in the sunlight on a Saturday morning while drinking coffee and playing fetch with the cat is all it takes to restore that sense of goodness and that feeling of home. Thank goodness for Mums and sunlight and Saturdays and coffee and cats.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
slowly settle in
On New Year's day in the morning I lay in bed and felt my body shudder and try to recover. You brought me a cup of weak coffee, milky white but still hot. I lay in the sunlight and let it warm my hand and I watched the ribbon of steam fold and unravel like a corkscrew. I watched it in amazement, really. Thought about the air in that room, ever-present but never really in my thoughts. Thought about currents and temperature, liquid versus solid, particles and waves, and then thought about my lungs, my veins, and my breathing, pulsing, heaving body. I took a sip. Then I watched the cup some more, until the coffee had turned tepid and the ribbon sighed and dissipated.
Walked up to the top of Mont Royal in the light of yesterday's afternoon. The just-thawed paths are hard again, and so slick with ice. Everyone's arms stretch out for balance, and their feet shuffle clumsily and their faces are smiling because it's like they are eight again and skating on the ground. The police people go by, atop majestic dark horses. The weight of them has crushed a scattering of oval holes in the iced pathway, in which I step to keep my balance as we wind up and up.
I feel my rosy cheeks and wipe my sniffling nose on the back of my mitten. My springy lungs feel stretched out and hot, yet my body is thankful because this high winter air is filling me up to the brim with all kinds of things. And to look out at a city stretched out, surrounded by water and distant mountains. We drink our vending machine cafe mocha and imagine this landscape before it was populated with people and industry. The mountain way over there would have been some kind of destination. To get there, we would have walked straight that-a-way. Crossed the water in a great canoe, or maybe by front-crawl. But we are here, now, and the light is fading. We wind down that mountain, back into the dirty streets and home to hot peppermint tea and a purring cat.
You left this morning, setting out for an adventure that will keep you away for awhile. Mooz has been looking out the window and I find myself doing the same. But I know that time is just going, and that there are plenty of ways to fill up time. This new year is one in which I would like to settle and unravel, to figure and find, to keep learning. So, twothousandandeleven, good morning! I am making you a quilt.
Walked up to the top of Mont Royal in the light of yesterday's afternoon. The just-thawed paths are hard again, and so slick with ice. Everyone's arms stretch out for balance, and their feet shuffle clumsily and their faces are smiling because it's like they are eight again and skating on the ground. The police people go by, atop majestic dark horses. The weight of them has crushed a scattering of oval holes in the iced pathway, in which I step to keep my balance as we wind up and up.
I feel my rosy cheeks and wipe my sniffling nose on the back of my mitten. My springy lungs feel stretched out and hot, yet my body is thankful because this high winter air is filling me up to the brim with all kinds of things. And to look out at a city stretched out, surrounded by water and distant mountains. We drink our vending machine cafe mocha and imagine this landscape before it was populated with people and industry. The mountain way over there would have been some kind of destination. To get there, we would have walked straight that-a-way. Crossed the water in a great canoe, or maybe by front-crawl. But we are here, now, and the light is fading. We wind down that mountain, back into the dirty streets and home to hot peppermint tea and a purring cat.
You left this morning, setting out for an adventure that will keep you away for awhile. Mooz has been looking out the window and I find myself doing the same. But I know that time is just going, and that there are plenty of ways to fill up time. This new year is one in which I would like to settle and unravel, to figure and find, to keep learning. So, twothousandandeleven, good morning! I am making you a quilt.
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