dandelions.

there's a fraction
of a poem
in a book*
on shelf
in a hostel
in a city
which reads:

i have lost my smile
but do not worry
the dandelion has it

and the idea travels with me.
and i wonder where i might find that dandelion.

i can smile if i try. and there is plenty to smile about. but that natural, continual expression of joy. feels sometimes hidden. by unexplained anxiety. uncertainty. inadequacy. invisiblity. and the days are mostly dark. from start to finish. except for an intermission of light in between ambiguous sunrises and sunsets over the sea. and the coldness sets in. and the winter grows deeper.
but then we found a place. of snowy hills. resting in the sunshine. and we climbed amidst them, careful to stay parallel to the impermanent light. and there, burried underneath the snow, we found a dandelion stem. her seeds had scattered, floating free. in the vibrant sky. in the glowing sunshine. in the distant mountains. in the changing sea. on the frozen tundra. on the icy willows.

and we realized the dandelion was all around. so we couldn't help but smile.

and there must be other dandelions to discover. so we will journey and we will search with open eyes.






*from peace is every step by thich nhat hanh

traveling with blueberries

i'm sorry if the blueberries are a little mashed up
we've traveled a long way

these blueberries and i

from a land once abundant with blueberries

where autumn is fading

and winter on its brink

to a place of strangely familiar vastness

but with cacti and heat

where we can climb mountains

and hike valleys

and admire the brilliant sunset at the end of the road

i apologize if the blueberries are rather squished

we've journeyed quite a ways

these blueberries and i

from desert landscapes

to a temperate place

of rolling hills and quaint downtowns

where we can walk on paths

with canopies of changing leaves

where we can throw frisbees in meadows

and sit and talk about the uncertainty of all of this

i'm sorry if the blueberries are stuck together

we've come a great distance

these blueberries and i

through crooked roads and tree covered mountains

to the house where the stars are always bright

and a hundred year old dog waits for a walk

where we can share vegetables and laughter

and appreciate the quiet beauty all around

i apologize if the blueberries are smashed

we've made it very far

these blueberries and i

to rest in the kitchen

of afterschool treats and studies

to sit with you for a moment

and dream of traveling the world

one place at a time

do forgive me if the blueberries are a mess

many miles we have traveled

these blueberries and i

down four lane highways

to busy cities and fruitful farmland

to remember what was

to catch up on what is

to wonder what will be

as we dance to tunes

warmly familiar

underneath stars and amidst the sunshine

and the last of the blueberries

preserved in a jar

i've brought them just for you

from all this way

to the sea on the other side

where we can put our feet in the water

and watch the sun's rising and setting

decorate the sky

as we celebrate family

both old and new

so i hope you'll find a way

to create something delicious

muffins or pancakes or cobbler

and to taste a glimpse of summer

and to remember you are loved

from where the wild blueberries grow

welcome.

the fireweed has turned.














shedding its innocent petals of summertime.

in exchange for lonely leaves that bare the colour of its name.

and the tundra is quick to follow in this transformation. the lively green landscape, made vibrant by alternating summer light and rain, is quickly changing. to other vibrant shades. of reds. of yellows. as the light fades. as the air cools. as autumn arrives. she only visits for a little while. a transient friend who's beauty distracts us from summer's flight and winter's settling in.

so the seasons change. as seasons do. reminding us of impermanence. beyond our control. reminding us to appreciate and endure the moment we are in. for it will cease to exist. and a new moment will soon be.

so with an openness to change. inevitably happening all around. we offer thanks for the season we have lived.

with its abundant blueberries.

with its overwhelming mountain views.

with its lyrical rivers.

with its sunshine.

with its moments.

and we offer thanks in advance. for the beauty to come. for the tundra fully ablaze. for the autumn cranberries. for the stars that burst from hiding. for the first snowfall. for a new season. visiting as long as it chooses.

welcome.

foreign. yet familiar.

we flew across the sea. uncertain of what we would experience on the opposite shore. remembering that uncertainty characterizes this journey. and joy evolves from openness amidsdt it. we were greeted by dancers. singing songs of welcome. of friendship. in a language foreign. yet familiar. we marveled at silent structures. abandoned not so long ago. we wandered city streets. of tall brightly coloured concrete. in some strange country. we embarked on a rocky path. through jagged mountains. and narrow valleys. in search of new adventures.

we were warmly greeted and showered with hospitality. by friends old and new. a common language of siberian yupik that both youth and elders embraced. a communication beyond language when no words could be found. incessant games of tag and endless merry go round rides. bottomless cups of tea and tables spread with delicious native foods. hikes up rocky mountain sides and along stony sea shores. rowing expeditions of teamwork and strength. celebrations of culture through drumming and dancing. bonds that transcend borders and recognize unity.

and our perspective has changed. our world is different now. and these new places. these new people. that our paths have crossed with. will always be a part of who we are. and these moments of exploration. of discovery. of insight. of growth. follow us. to the places that are familiar. to the places that are foreign. to wherever else our feet are insipired to go.

waves.

amidst a concrete jungle. inundated with noises of airplanes. and construction. and traffic. there are still wildflowers flourishing by the highway. there are still birds offering their melodies.

amidst closed in walls. filled with airconditioners. and strangers in transit. there are stories of transformation. there is community woven together in love.

amidst music. and silence. amidst questions. and affirmations. there are reminders of passion. of support. of family. of hope.

amidst all of this. a thankfulness beyond words stirs. for reunion. for communion. with this scattered group of individuals. who compose an amazing whole. who teach me so much. about people. about the world. about justice. about faith. about struggle. about solidarity. about peace.

amidst hugs. and tears. amidst laughter and encouragement. our paths that merged briefly. like waves along a pointed shore. continue in opposite directions.

yet amdist goodbyes. there is still celebration. of the places we've been. of the places we are. of the places we're going. and especially of this community. so deep. that it extends beyond borders. beyond distances. profoundly rooted in love.

amidst all of this. there is beauty. if we only open our eyes. and listen.

harmony.

the skies were continuously a vibrant shade of blue. with the exception of a few glittering snowflakes that drifted down. the mountains remained overwhelmingly beautiful. with their combination of trees and snow. and though my feet had briefly passed this way before. these moments were different. a soundtrack to follow us around. of guitars and fiddles. of banjos and mandolins. music drifting in the breeze. created by friends. and strangers. gathering together in circles flooded with sunshine. and there were bottomless cups of coffee. and hospitable folks to offer dinner. there were musicians playing on street corners. and hikes amidst the forest. in communion with fellow sojourners. in communion with trees. and mountains. and earth. so gracious to share their space. some compared it to heaven. most wanted to stay indefinitely. we danced when inspired. and we lied in the grass as well. with an openness to our days. moments flowing into the next. quite naturally. without a particular agenda. and there was that view of the glacier from the shore. that stirred a certain awe as we awaited a simple sunset. and to be a fly on the wall. of crowded antiquated hallways. overflowing with spontaneous harmonies. was more than enough. although this collection of scenes made my fingers crave musical strings of their own.

then we boarded planes. to return to winter. after a delicious taste of summer. with hopes that spring is on her way. although she won't be bringing those mountains and trees with her up here. but hopefully bits of those harmonies will follow.

redemption song.

the alleluias don't sound the same here. but there is something sacred. about the voices that are raised. in a language from deep within. a language my ears fail to decipher. that perhaps speaks of faith. that perhaps sings of hope.

so i sit in between worlds. in perpetual uncertainty. of what this means. wondering if the words that come out. derive from deep within. or are merely a lingering echo.

and she walks in. with heavy feet. right before the bread is put away. the moment freezes. but we follow our script.

hands move in rhythm to the melody that is offered. not eskimo dancing. nor a marley song. even though these leftover curls. seek transformation into rasta locks.

and her tears are real. as she requests a rendition. of the old rugged cross. and the words come out. in an out of tune way. still uncertain of meaning. but singing for her. regardless of the deeper questions. the message of hope. of forgiveness. means something in this moment. and is something to cling to.

as moments pass. the world spins on. the stained glass blocks our view. of the gentle april snow. covering what was. with something new. a layer that will also be covered. or melt away. in its impermanence. in its fleeting nature.

yet the snow keeps falling.