All I remember of that white-flowering tree is the open blue sky and the silence all around, the dog’s red leash in my hand
teacher, poet, enthusiast, and former child and youth protection social worker in Montreal QC.
Two stories high, on a pale green branch, where only the wail of the buzz-saw and the silence of the limb prevails, a tree-service man executes a perfect warrior pose: … Continue reading Life and limb
In 1956 when I was ten, my family moved from our post-war, veterans’ cottage on Viau Street in Montréal Est to West Hill Avenue in Notre-Dame-de-Grâce; I told my best … Continue reading Heart–a bit of flash non-fiction
Oh, elegant Mr. Snowman, thank you for your jaunty self—cool, standing embodiment of beguiling temporariness! And yes, I know, you’ll remember the day you accepted beret and bright red scarf … Continue reading To the beautiful snowman across the street
Crunch of boot on ice, a neighbor’s shovel chopping–precisely-placed eighth notes for a sheet of winter music, presto through the snow. A woman–her coat’s all silver against the dark … Continue reading Sound and scene in winter
Einstein might’ve enjoyed our fiftieth grad year reunion— to sit with us, joke and guffaw in a place between then and now, where minutes like pearls tumble unclasped from the … Continue reading 50th Grad Year Reunion
When the door of the heart blows open, the greedy hands of time grow slack and minutes like runaway soldiers find reprieve as from the face of war: the heart … Continue reading Reprieve
Just here, with his toothy smile, big bushy beard, warm heart: gone in a trick of Light that whisked him sideways out of his body so fast there’s no telling … Continue reading Trick of Light
The stuff of time is elusive as elk at the dawn of the last ice age– musk scent of herd, hoof cracks on ice, fast-splattered snow, then silence as in … Continue reading Caribou in Cote Saint-Luc
Where is the line between this world and the next? Or is it, rather, that pool the shamans use—a screech of arctic owl, wizard eyes glistening in the midnight sun? … Continue reading The line between
It feels as though time’s grasp is breaking. I see blood- colored berries clinging fast to thin brown twigs etched against the sky, bone-white arms of birches angled upward, juiceless … Continue reading Fall, 2015
A rush of starlings past a tall birch, dry leaves prattling to the stark September sky, a road with filtered light, a golf ball in an asphalt pot-hole; a white … Continue reading Mid-morning walk on Golf Course Rd.