Black Cat

A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

It's All Gone Pear Shaped

It is apple crisp time. I only make it in the fall. I only want to eat it in the fall, when the air is as crisp as that delectable sugary oat topping. I was given a bag of apples... a wonderful woman I know has two apple trees and a pear tree in her yard and this year she had more fruit than she knew what to do with. 

I happily brought them home and knew exactly what to do with them. I started peeling and chopping. Inside the bag was one lonely pear. So in a spontaneous act of culinary creativity (I don't cook, so bear with me) I decided to add a pear to my apple crisp.

And I probably won't do that again. It just doesn't taste the same. Actually, come to think of it, I should have known better. As much as I love the voluptuous shape of the pear, and I adore that sweet little english phrase *it's all gone pear shaped* ...  I'm not entirely smitten with them when it comes to eating them. 

Except for bosc pears. They look almost rotten from the outside, all brown and plain. But they have a most satisfying sugary crunch. And that's just it....they have to be crunchy. 

As I think about it, so do apples. Except when they get cooked up into a sweet gooey mess underneath a blanket of apple crisp topping. 

Unfortunately, this crisp did go a bit pear shaped. Pardon the pun.

Funny how I keep reaching for a spoon, though.

Fernwood Adventures

No other season seems to signify change more than Autumn. Maybe it is because the changes are so bold in nature this time of year.  She's feeling kind of flirtatious, Mother Nature... and she wants to be noticed. As much as I love those brilliant hues that scream for my attention, I am drawn to the softness. The less flamboyant. The ones who whisper rather than shout.

I had a lovely afternoon with a new friend. We met through blogging, and now I had the pleasure of meeting her in person today. We sat in a cozy cafe, savoured a good cup of chai while listening to great tunes, watching interesting people come and go.... talking of life and adventure, embracing challenge and trusting the mysterious ways of the world. I would have been perfectly content to sit there for another hour or so, but our cameras were sitting impatiently on the table like restless children in need of some fresh air.

So we headed out to the funky, eclectic neighbourhood of Fernwood. Here you will find interesting old character houses painted every colour of the rainbow, community gardens and even little tomato gardens lining the sidewalks. The telephone poles are painted with flowers and butterflies, and real flowers are still spilling out of every nook and cranny... in October!

We grew quieter as we started watching the world through our lenses. Blissfully content as we happily snapped away. It was a perfect day. Clear skies, and crisp air (that strangely smelled like fennel...it was growing everywhere).

I did capture some bold fall colours too. But I will save them for another post... some future day when I need a little exuberance to brighten the rainy grey.

Coming Back to Center

The world is too full of beauty to dwell in sadness for too long.

There will be moments, I am sure, where I will surrender to whatever it is that hurts. There will be many of them ... I feel deeply. And I love that I do.

But today, I stepped out in nature.... to be present with it, to accept its peace offerings. The natural world truly is the greatest elixir for a weary soul.

Breathing deeply. Accepting what is.
No matter what, there is always beauty. Everywhere. I am open.

Lifeboat

Why is change so damn hard?

Change represents the loss of some thing, in place of another thing. Well, what if that other thing isn't what you hoped for? What if you really felt you needed the original thing? Is that the life lesson? To let go of things you think you need and be open to what comes?

Maybe. But I don't feel like being optimistic or philosophical.

How do I let my loved ones go with well-being in my heart for them when my own well-being is suffering?

This chunk of rock in the middle of the ocean that I have chosen to call home... this place that feels so much like home...how can if feel so lonely now? How did this island become so isolating? Can it still be home when my family is so far? What is home? The place or the people?

I feel as though I am being left behind. If this loss feels so intense, why am I the only one that seems to be feeling it? Is it because I am not the one doing the leaving?

Is my anger justified?
How about my sense of betrayal?
How do I keep resentment from clouding my sense of things?

Why is fear overriding love?
How do I turn it all around?

It is as though I am floating in a little lifeboat... but the paddles have drifted away from me. Lost to an overwhelming current much beyond my control. Can I learn to trust the tides to bring me back to a safe place?

My safe place. Maybe it will no longer be so?

My tears, the same muted colour of the sea.... an entity that used to sustain me feels like a barrier now to those that I love.
Where do I go from here?