collecting...

the winters are no longer as cold here as they once were

one thing the milder weather seems to be affecting is the number of wildflowers blooming

this past week its been the lupins that have taken over

I admit to them not being my favourite flower as a child... it was all about crocuses and Queen Anne's Lace for me

I hardly even remember seeing many lupins

a few nights ago on an evening walk my daughter and I noticed the transformation to the forest floor... clumps of lupins were everywhere, as far as we could see, in every direction

each day there are more, the colour deepening

a most beautiful sight amongst the varying greens

I feel filled with inspiration from all the places I've been, and the things that I've seen and it will all be coming forth in both words and images over the next few weeks

in preparation for the writing I want to do i've been looking through all the poems from the 100 Day Project and thought I'd share four of my most favourite ones with the stories behind them

this is tied to growing up and living the better part of my life (literally and figuratively) in the forests of the Yukon

so many of the old pathways of my childhood are still intact, the wide expanse of forest across the street from childhood is the same... one rock in particular, still embedded in the path

I used to always stand on it, rocking back and forth on the slightly raised centre before continuing to a friend's house

I love that I do it today without even thinking

sunset is well after 11:30pm now though there is no darkness, just a slight dimming of the light

on the lakes it grows quiet even before that though nothing is really sleeping yet... there's a tranquillity that sinks deeply 

the cold spring has made for a late run-off; the river was low. when I arrived and still is, many channels completely empty of water

one day I took advantage of that and walked out to one of the islands having never been able to do that in all the years I lived here

the stones were all varying shades of light to medium grey and then I noticed one that stood out rather dramatically

it was of the same beautiful blue-green as the water and I found it ironic the only hint of the river in the dry bed came from the colour of a stone 

this last one is I think my favourite; it has stayed with me since I wrote it in the very early days of the project

ice fog in the winter often completely enveloped the land

sound is muffled, streetlights and headlights shrouded until you get quite close though still diffused

the fog seems to swallow both sound and light

when temperatures fell below -40 we would sometimes boil water and toss it off the back stairs outside the house and listen for the ice to hit the ground

we were never disappointed

it seemed to me the ice fog did the same sort of thing to the spoken words, the way sound didn't travel, just seemed to fall away immediately and I imagined words splintered and laying frozen on the ground

I still love the idea of that and you'll be seeing some work with it over the coming weeks

tomorrow I fly back to Salmon Arm, to manicured landscapes and hot weather, taking a small collection of driftwood and stones, barks and pressed flowers with me

that, along with the most beautiful collection of memories and inspiration to fill me up until the next time I'm home