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Archive for March, 2013

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Count your garden by the flowers
Never by the leaves that fall.
Count your days by golden hours
Don’t remember clouds at all.
Count your nights by stars, not shadows
Count your life with smiles, not tears.
And all throughout your lifetime
Count your age by friends, not years.

Anon

Easter Blessings! 

My next post will appear on April 5th.

 

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We guide our canoe through the shallows of a peaceful billabong. As the afternoon passes the water becomes as still as glass, reflecting the grotesque shapes of old rugged trees on its mirrored surface. The only sound is the gentle splash of our bow. We stop to rest—our paddles across our knees—as small droplets from the wet blades create ever-widening circular pools. Paddling closer to the edge we savour the quiet of this moment, this small gift of nature that never ceases to sustain and uplift us.

on the breeze
the distant call
of a crow

(billabong: an Australian term for the branch of a river forming a blind channel, backwater, or a stagnant pool)

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to the south
lies a pristine beach
bounded by
sandy shores
and a turquoise sea

lying in rows
on colourful towels
oil-slicked bodies
of sun worshipers
barbeque themselves

* * *

Later we visit the far northern beach. Crude oil, spilled from an off-shore tanker, covers kilometres of sand and rocks. Council workers and volunteers still rake and scrub to remove all the stinking sludge. A colony of pelicans was discovered, covered in oil, unable to fly or forage for food. Members of the Animal Welfare Service collected them and tended to their needs. Of the survivors, six birds are now clean and healthy enough to release back into their habitat.

 Six cages are placed along a clean stretch of beach, facing the sea. A worker stands behind each cage, then slowly raises the front panel and backs away. The pelicans remain motionless. All are silent until one large bird tentatively steps outside. One by one the others follow as the colony slowly approaches the shore. Again the birds wait. Then on some invisible cue, they all race into the water where they swim, dive and fly freely once again.

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Our day ends with a late afternoon walking meditation. There is just enough time for one  final ‘walkabout’ in nature−−to enjoy her charms and to dream, touch, smell and capture a  last ‘Ah – Ha’ haiku moment. Armed with notebooks and pens we move ahead, as a sliver of pink and gold appears and then widens over the rim of the horizon.

our poet’s walk
rings with the resonance
of singing bell birds

The pace quickens as rich foliage deepens into shadow. Trees and shrubs along a forest stream suddenly fall silent as the horizon now flames orange red. The sky above provides just enough light to guide us back safely, before darkness draws its cover over the land.

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a chance encounter
when two strangers
made a perfect connection-
why did this become
our parting gift?

From my poetry collection: ‘Aspects of Love’

 

 

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