A blog about flowers, poetry, life and style.

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stretch our bones

I feel at home whenever I visit Edworthy Park – the birds carrying baby birds in their bellies, the squirrels climbing pine trees, the forest, the families playing together, the way time slows down for those who visit. I think everybody ought to have their own little space in the woods where they can listen to cricket songs and hear their own voice echo. The last time I visited Edworthy for photographs, the cherry tree was wearing flowers and I was standing on my tiptoes below it. As always, I was happy to be alive in the blossoming season and I was doing all that one could to keep old age from creeping into the cracks of daylight. If you stop to visit the flowers and pine groves, if you trade the city buses for birdsong every once in awhile, you're bound to feel young no matter the year on your calendar.
 Tomorrow, we leave in the early hours for a road trip that will lead us to music gigs in Lethbridge. I hope to stop on the way so I can breathe in the southern Alberta air, eat little hand spun sandwiches, and watch the spring winds blow across the plains. I love road trips – the world rolling by your window, a scenery changing with each mile, leaving the familiar to be with ourselves, tasting life and endless joy as we travel along the road. I even enjoy the breaks in between when we stretch our bones and count the other travelers who always drive too fast. There is no need to hurry, these roads exist for the journey, let bad moods and restless legs be forgotten, we've got country and an entire world at our feet.

The Outfit
Skirt Chicwish*
Boots Oasap *
White Blouse Value Village

the unknowing of wolves

  It is April, the month where pillows are beds for sunbeams and dogs are reunited with the dandelion patch. I sit on wooden pallets in the backyard and play my gourd banjo while the light of day makes me feel less alone than I felt all winter. I make a promise not to write about weather or birds or oak trees as often as I already do, "that's just small talk" I tell myself. Perhaps the time has come for me to write about belly aches, or how I wish I was canoeing on some great lake, or maybe I shall have conversations with the wolves that live inside of us all. 

When I was a little girl, I was afraid of nothing, not even the black dog that howled from across the street. I left my house barefoot and wandered to the mosquito crowded lake to fish for shrimp with my bare hands and feed them to the ducks. I pulled armored weeds from the ground and when they left a stinging red trail on my finger, I'd return home seeking a band aid then back to the earth I went. Nothing could stop me from being joyous in my movements, it was the pure bliss of childhood, the unknowing of wolves and hearts that can break. 

I was alive, but I did not care to think about it. I only knew my hands were able and my lungs were working so I could breathe in the pollen, and I was grateful it never made me sneeze. I knew kids who had allergies and it made adventures by the lake or dandelion patch impossible for them. I was a girl, but I did not care to think about it. I only knew I peed sitting down and my hair was longer than my brothers. I wasn't good at math, but I did not care to think about it. I only knew I liked words more than numbers and I didn't need math to catch my hand on thorns from the blueberry bush or to watch ladybugs climb blades of grass. 

I lived each day with curiosity the size of a world. I was myself being myself, wide eyed and bushy tailed like a rabbit hopping into the field of April sunshine. I never once thought I was wrong or out of the ordinary, I was just being me. There was no loneliness, no teeth being clenched by imaginary wolves, no letters to attend to and no fields of belly butterflies to keep you from becoming the person you have wanted to be. It was life and it was bountiful. I knew happiness the way scientists know the body of a bird.

April brings memories of a happy childhood: the lake, the dog, my brother making castles out of sticks, myself being myself, unafraid, unapologetic, weird and wonderful, blueberry bushes and the sweetest fruit of freedom. If only I could always see the world the same way I saw it when I was young, but I promise to keep trying by breathing in the pollen and by being glad it doesn't make me sneeze.

The Outfit
Skirt Chicwish*
Boots & Shawl – Value Village
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