Introspective Communing

Even in solitude and the silence
it brings, the conversation continues
replete with reminiscences of the
past, the glow of the present and
expectations of the future, exploring
and evaluating life's episodes
considering outcomes and pleasures,
indulgences and repercussions
a retrospective of the gallery of
photographs engraved in memory 
and neatly arrayed in a chronology
describing the evolution of a
singular life. These intimate
conversations with mind and
memory timeless as life itself
repeat and repeat as I resemble a
sphinx, at rest and in peace with
itself, commemorating the triumph
of measureless shared existence.

When East Meets West

Alysha Brilla,left, and Tameera Mohamed — along with a third sister, Nadia — say they never intended to cause a stir when they rode topless for 20-25 minutes through residential streets on a hot day.

When East Meets West

In the lands consecrated to the
worship of and surrender to Islam
the Prophet is blessed and Allah
trusted but women are degraded
in status, mere appendages of
superior men; called upon to be
chaste and modest, shrouded in
life as they are in death lest sight
of their flesh drive hapless men to
demented distraction, helpless before
wicked female wiles exuding from
their very cursed pores to enslave
and entrap unwary males. The
chador and the burka separating
men from the evil allure of
Satanic vices. How right they are
to cower before the threat of
seduction displeasing to the 
culture of tribal Islam. See now
the intersection of Islamic virtue
and Western feminism, where
comely young women bearing 
the Prophet's sacred name
disport themselves shamelessly.
Where, transported to the West
Alysha and Tameera and Nadia
Mohamed insist on their rights
under Ontario law to bare their
breasts in relief from summertime
heat, deliberately oblivious to 
the heat consuming young men
witnessing their innocent antics.

 

Summer Bliss

Imagine! I'm as chirpy as
a cricket, as swift as a chipmunk
as sweet as a strawberry, as
curious as a monkey, and as
light as a butterfly in the
throes of happiness, in love
with summer. I revel in the
casual spontaneity, the ease
and pleasure of leisure, flit
about like a dragonfly in my
garden, too pleased for mere
words to express my gratitude
to nature and the good fortune
that life has bestowed upon me
loved and loving the time
shared with my companion
from childhood to marriage. I
glow with thanksgiving.

CTV London: Guilty plea: Puppy locked up and left                                                                                        

Just So Adorable!

They likely considered it a test,
an experiment, a dry run, a rehearsal
and if it worked out well they would
know how prepared they were for
the decision to raise a family. They had
ample time, they're a young couple
and so they decided on a five-week-old
Chihuahua puppy mix, a cute little
fellow, just what the family-fairy
ordered to pattern them into a mature
and responsible married couple.
They were happy in their choice,
the little creature was amusing even 
while alarmingly irritating in its 
needs. Compensation came in the
form of the admiration elicited from
friends and strangers alike on sight
of the tiny, adorable puppy. And then
they remembered there were plans
they had discussed about going off 
on a holiday for two weeks. They
reasoned they would have to make
special arrangements for the four-
legged tyke, and completed their
travel plans. After they left their
apartment complaints landed in the
building superintendent's 'to-do'
in-box. And when he entered the
apartment distressed sounds led him
to the bathroom where the tiny pup
was locked securely in the room,
its haircoat matted with feces, 
its frantic yelps for rescue from
loneliness gripping the super's heart.

Memorable Gifts

It was the first and the last
gift I would ever give to him
bought in reflection of our
wedding anniversary. Many other
anniversaries were to follow
and gifts there were but always
the same, given over and over
again: my heart. But in the 
summer of 1956 we were both
19, best of friends for the past
five years, and it was the first
anniversary of our marriage.
A neighbourhood jewellery shop
stood beside the stop where I
daily disembarked from the bus
after work, and there, showcased
in the window, an advertised
special buy. I arranged a modest
monthly payment and bought a
gold-toned Bulova wristwatch
and had the back engraved. The
date on the engraving is wrong 
but nothing was wrong with the 
marriage. He was quite surprised 
I was happy, and from that time 
forward we continued to build our
lives around one another. In the
time that has passed he has
acquired quite a few timepieces
to satisfy his fascination with
watches. My little gift is by far
the least among them. So much 
so it's been forgotten, but today,
on his wrist it rests, its mechanized
heart beating in tandem with mine.

South Thormanby Island, B.C.

Getting away from it all. From Vancouver with kayak and tent and enough fuel and food for several days, just paddle about and enjoy nature's wilderness solitude and beauty.



For company, you can commune with river otters, in the bay where you're camped, curious about your presence, who will perform their rambunctious antics finally oblivious to your presence, another of nature's creatures who turn up on occasion.



The ocean lapping at the shore will lull you to sleep. The wide open sky above, the heavens as dark as they get without city lights cast above, so the theatre of the firmament as prehistoric man saw it presents for your viewing pleasure.



No ancient hominid saw the regular cycle of a space station circling Earth, in a technological mimic of nature's clockwork symmetry in the vault of heaven, nor the passage of communications satellites, however.



Photos courtesy of J.S. Rosenfeld

Illusory Vanity

They walk with the predatory
grace of leopards, graceful
and poised with a natural
assurance, born to the catwalk.
Their lissome, taut bodies
the envy of moneyed mature
women resentful yet bitterly
admiring of their unblemished
complexions, their pillowy
pouting lips and innocent
hauteur. Yet their sun-kissed
limbs are frail, the adolescent
high-fashion models frankly
underweight, a vehicle,
nothing more, much less
for the impossibly stylish clothing
they model. Carelessly at ease
languidly self-assured, dedicated
to self-denial spurning all
but a subsistence diet in the
greater interests of 'getting ahead',
making the fashion plates of
glossy magazines in a bid for
renown and demand, they earn
the envy they arouse in the 
well-fed matrons whose delusions
haute couture creates, that their
acquisition of the costly garments
confers on the wearer youth,
fitness and the very miracle
of dialling back time they so
hugely crave to fulfill themselves.

All Is Forgiven

They are not our toys but
emerging companions
these two small and dainty
creatures in our home. As
puppies they entered with
the apparent notion that this
house was too civilized for
their impulsive impishness
and speedily set about on a 
determined campaign to
wrest cleanliness and tidiness
from its place in our little
universe. Our displeasure
and scolding served to whet
their appetites toward ever
bolder spurning of household
rules in their eagerness to
bring joyful disorder to
dominate our domicile. Any
opportunity to chew, mangle,
tear and soil floors, clothing,
toys or furniture represented
an irresistible challenge to
their fervid little plotting minds.
Now, still in mature puppyhood
they express their love and
trust in us by nibbling fingers
and toes, licking our faces
with ferocious gusto, and 
trailing us faithfully wherever
we go. Now, it is they who
reproach us if their meals are
late, as they restrain their
impulses, to please the
peculiar values of the giants
with whom they live in a
madcap semblance of harmony.
And all is mutually forgiven.


 

Universal Life

NASA LEDA 89996, spiral galaxy

Universal Life

The prospect is exciting, alluring
intriguing, quite beyond our
feeble imagination: What if? The 
issue is one that has teased the
awareness of cosmologists and
laypeople alike from ancient
times to the present. Is there,
could there possibly be, there
should really exist, intelligent life
in the Universe. Heaven knows,
there is scant little here on Earth.
So we train great and powerful
radio telescopes and the minds
of astronomical genius to that
eager discovery, awaiting signals.
Galactic wisdom could be useful
to we Earthlings. We could use
the benevolent mentoring of an
advanced extraterrestrial race.
Of course, there is this also to
consider: If they are a brilliantly
advanced intelligence with
technology to match, they are
likely well aware of our presence
and our desperate search for theirs. 
Their distant solitude may very 
well be considered risk-aversion.

Nature Psychosis

She was born a rebel, instinctively
angry, taking righteous umbrage
wherever she could. And she
could, skilled as she had become
in selecting the weapons to
enhance her war chest, enabling
her pursuit of entitled rage, for
her object was no less sacred
and over-arching than saving
the world from itself. The
world of nature's other animals
innocent of intent to harm and
manipulate have their champion
in her, though they are oblivious
and that's a mercy. The science of
the natural world is lauded
indeed worshipped while the
world of human-interfering science
is scorned and derided, the two
polarized, incompatible as 
human science sets out to destroy
the genius of nature's ineffable
brilliance. She rides to the rescue
bearing posters of condemnation
writing polemics of blame
recruiting others infected by her
screeds, bemoaning the scientific
industrial complex whose credo
she claims is financial gain in
lock-step with hobbling natural
processes. Her rationalized dissection
of government-fuelled advances in
medicine, technology and through
deciphering our place in the universe
a vast conspiracy pitting those with
true values against the uncaring majority.

 

Being Prepared

If you go out in the woods
today, a word of caution if the
sky above that green canopy is
crowded with wicked looking
thunder clouds ... Do not be lulled
into complacency by glimpses
of blue and sun radiating its
ineffable heat, scattering light
on the forest floor on a hot and
humid summer day. Nature
conspires with her elements to
surprise and ambush those whose
hubris she deplores, preferring
we be alert to her entitlement
to alter prospects in her sole
monopoly. So be forewarned 
and pay your respects to the 
deity of nature and all that exists
to bring suspense and tension
to our place in her universe as
broad as the drama of the heavens
and as insignificant as our pleasure
in leisure pursuits, so dependent on
her impulsively changeable mood.

 

Night Mares

The turbulence crept across
the lofty dark field of clouds
obscuring the heavenly bodies
above and moved with inexorable
force that nature endorsed, to
perform its vast orchestral din,
thunder tumbling with
ferocious menace into the
unaware sleeping minds below
like a herd of feral horses
unleashed in the vastness of
the firmament featuring 
a nightmare of urgent fury.
Rolling drumrolls of thunder
in relentless waves partnering
lightning forking the skies
illuminating bedroom interiors
makes for restive sleep and
anxiously barking dogs as
uncertain how they should
view the implied threat as
the humans bidding them hush.

In Control

His three dogs, bred to herd and
as intelligently responsive as
any sensitive animal on four legs
can be, are attentive to his commands,
communicated often and in a
language they well understand of
hand signals, tone of voice absent
tension. Facing us, his tone is
conversational almost casual as
he tells us with grim satisfaction
that he ran this morning despite
having to stop intermittently
until the signals his body now
conveys subsided. Cellphone always
at hand but of no use should he
lose consciousness. Don't know
what the dogs would do, he quips.
He now knows the reason for
those awkward dizzy spells, his
inability to focus his mind, his
memory loss and spasms of 
weakness flooding his fit and
athletic body. Newly diagnosed
by a neurologist he has no option
but to undergo surgery to relieve 
the pressure of water on his brain.
One damn thing after another, he
shrugs as we scan his tired eyes
and strained, rigid face, while his
three dogs race through the woody
forest underbrush, flashes of black
and white alerting him to their
necessarily near presence for recall.

Absent Nostalgia

When I was a child my father
used to mock and deride me
whenever he heard me speak to
my husband in tender terms of
'dear' and 'honey'. He was then not
yet my husband for we were both
fourteen and devoted friends
learning how to be intimate. He
was also a boy whose father was
known to mine and that led to
furtive meetings when I was
informed I was not to see him.
My parents relented when it became
clear that nothing would part us.
Terms of endearment were unknown
to my parents, but not to me. Little
did they know that the boy who 
four years later became my husband
called me 'moocow' and 'pieface',
a type of verbal play my father
would never have known how to
decipher. Misfortune took my
father to meet with the Angel of
Death when he was 54. Good fortune
saw us celebrate our 60th wedding
anniversary, and I still call him
'dear' and 'honey', and there is
no force on Earth or in the Heavens
that could convince me to regret
the years we consumed together
in love and contentment with one
another despite my father's
admonishments to the contrary.

Garden Conquest

It's not that looks can be deceiving
actually more that experience aids
in evaluating the effects of
introducing botanical specimens
of little-understood habit to an 
otherwise well-ordered garden.
How was I to know that my initial
rapture on beholding the sweet
shapely leaves in their beguiling
colours was a excused a clever 
disguise for a garden thug? Even 
its nomenclature is intriguing. True
the Harlequin vine brings vibrant 
colour and form to the garden
at first admired and then regarded 
with a twinge of alarm as its habit of 
creeping out of its assigned place is 
first noted, foreshadowing its covertly 
successful rampage toward garden 
conquest. And to think I regarded it as a
delicate plant, exquisitely exotic!
Now those exotic and colourful
vines are everywhere I look, crowding
out their neighbours, competing for
space and sustenance, sending up
lovely little white floral offerings
as a signal of truce it has no
intention whatever of honouring.

The Elusive Groom

He is a neat package of civil
masculinity, dapper and cordial
born the proverbial ladies man. In
the presence of women he is
genuinely deferential and courteous
one might even use the word courtly
like a throwback to another era
when chivalry was the order of the
day, at least among the wealthy
landed class. And he has class in
abundance, along with his considerable
possessions, not much being absent
from his life. As a former officer
in the military he travelled widely
though now he travels as a member
of the leisure class, comfortably retired. 
Not much of the tourist world has
not been displayed and revealed
for his pleasure. His investments are
secure, his properties valuable,
but roaming about a large and
well-appointed house lacks some
fundamental value he cannot quite
put his mind to. In evaluating his
life as he wrinkles and greys, he
sighs at memory of lapsed loves.
For he so loves women. And if you
asked him whether he has any regrets
his considered response  would be
a life too short for ample opportunity
to find a women whose attributes
personified all he so admires in
that fascinatingly amazing gender.

 

Congenial Spirits

Long familiarity, it is often
said, can breed contempt, yet it can
also lead, given circumstances, to
utter content as when two indulge
in an exchange of focus and that 
which engages one captures the
interest of the other. Long intimate
years of association does not guarantee
such congeniality, even in the presence
of mutually exchanged love and
tender regard since for many an
unfortunate parting of the ways
often concludes the sacrament of
marriage long before the principals
have greyed together. For those
upon whom good fortune smiles
life's content in prolonged shared
emotions, experience and opportunities
to age together, each forming half
of a tandem, life is a gift in a
series of measured pleasures.

Forever Lost

He is a middling-to-large dog
brindle-coated, lean and muscular
though as a puppy not the fearful
aggressive presence he now 
presents, but hugely dependent
on the man who carefully selected
him, eager to please yet prepared
for punishment, a vulnerable
animal whose bearing is noble
but whose mind has been
twisted by the inchoate rage
of helplessness. He is not any
longer abused, one of those angry
sad-faced rescues that good souls
hanker to give the solace of care
to, in a compassionate bid to witness
the transformation they trust and
hope will replace what menace
has achieved. Not this time. The
abused, beaten dog has rigidly
settled into the role forced upon him
designed by a sadist. And the dog
with the soulful eyes capable of
spitting fire and brimstone to propel
his muscle-tense body into action
his teeth prepared to grip and tear
snarls at the other rescues, cowering
in fear at his lethal presence.

A Covenant

There is a buzz floating in the air
a communal thrumming melody
of frenetic activity surrounding the
apiaries set in the meadow
nearby ripening gooseberries
overrun with the purple flowers
of meandering cowvetch, ample
flowering clover underfoot
as the beekeeper slowly waves
his smudgepot, exiting bees
paying no mind at his familiar
presence. The coming and going
proceeds uninterrupted under
the placid sky the colour of
glacial ice, the burning orb of
the sun benevolent and warm
reassurance that all is well with
the world of man the grand
manipulator of nature's largess
and the industrious creatures
whose labour he so ably manages.

Life in the Country

She loves the song of the
meadowlarks, the sight of tiny
hummingbirds cavorting and
acrobatically challenging each other
in daredevil swoops so close to her
head heedless of her presence, the
sight of orioles, the trill of cardinals
and the flicker of woodpeckers
so close to home. To pause
briefly from within this country
haven that is her home, the old
stone-built heritage house
with venerable maples alongside
and to look outdoors to see
her very own Eden before her
fronted by the white picket fence
that had so often appeared in
her dreams before becoming reality.


 

Gardener's Lament

Where's the justice? It is just so ...
unfair. I know, I know, I sound like
a petulant child, so unbecoming in
a woman of mature years. My mood
is the product of frustration. For
indeed, it is supremely unfair. It is
not as though there is a competition
between me and my neighbour, a very
nice young woman whose mature 
years are yet before her. And, in fact,
my garden is far superior to hers, the
product of much hard work over 
the years. Where I have taken pains
to amend the soil from its original
clay base, where I am very particular
about picking weeds from between
the perennials, and where I nip and
tuck, deadhead, and string up, water
and coddle and admire and encourage
she, on the other hand, does none of
this. We are both, it should be said,
fond of gardens. She loves attractive
flowering plants and indulges in the
initial planting, and from then on
every thing she plants is left to its
own devices; to flourish or to die.
Those that manage to survive do so
very nicely, and it puzzles me when I
see the success of her management
though the proliferation of never
plucked weeds is intolerable, those
plants that become permanent residents
in her gardens do flourish. She beams
with pleasure at the very same features
that I do; form, texture, colour, fragrance.
Mine takes attention to detail and work, 
she manages her domain with no effort.

Surviving Menace

The quite visible spot where
none should be on my kitchen
floor might be a small clump
of dust, detritus, plant matter
but its presence offends my
housewifely sensibilities as I
take dust mop in hand to remove
it. Then it moves of its own 
volition, clearly not an 
inanimate object and I object
to its presence on this summer
day. Nature may have given
the creature permission to go
where it might, I did not.
Squeamishly, tissue in hand
I attempt to gently lift the
millipede and its many legs
frantically try to outrun my
intention which is to place it
whole and unharmed outside 
where bugs and beetles and
other insects belong. A game
ensues where each time I believe
I have succeeded in safely
cradling it within the tissue
I see it busily scrambling to
evade my intent, seeking refuge
from my cruel predations. 
Just as well that nature took the
trouble to invest humankind
with intelligence, and failed
to gift such lowly creatures
with the intelligence to survive
wouldn't you say? Or the reverse.

Next Door

What brought him to finally
surrender to the shared
covenant of marriage
presumably to utter the
brief assent of the marriage vow
is the mystery unsolved. What
convinced her to pursue that
darkly morose candidate to
a remote monastic cave is
something else entirely. For
her, a woman of emotive 
warmth and expressive gaiety
those mysterious motherhood
hormones wasted certainly
played their part in the ageing
persona of one spinster-bound.
The boy he sired is as
querulously demanding and
controlling to a fault in his
young adulthood as his
increasingly bitterly-silent father.
The young woman, his sister,
found it expedient to leave home
and the father intolerant of her
absorption in the theatrical arts
her flamboyant mode of dress
her casual comfort with the
society he dreads and deplores.
The pathological social misfit
has honoured that marriage 
covenant as far as he interpreted
it; his wife obedient to his
demands and command alike. 
She is diminished in persona,
given to cringing agreement,
fulsome praise of her glowering
tyrant; crushed spirit subdued.

 

Mighty Mites

How to distinguish them one
from the other? Difficult. They are
after all identical twins and quite
inseparable. When one little
rapscallion misbehaves the
other is right there too sharing
the bedevilling opportunities.
Instant recognition becomes
problematical. The mighty mites
share a penchant for rough-and-tumble
and move with the agility and
speed of monkeys. Same soft
black hair, dark limpid eyes and a
jawful of teeth that would be the pride
of any self-respecting shark. Small
they may be but their ambitions
are large as they rumble through
the garden, execute mighty leaps
across woodland mudholes and
peevishly pester when mealtimes
come around. Yet the difference
in personality is expressively there.
In the persona of ever-Smilin' Jack
and his sister, Melancholy Jill.

Urban Haven

The oppressive heat of the
city streets falls away as we
descend the forested ravine trail
the distinctive call of a bluejay
welcoming us. Reaching the 
slowly flowing stream the trail
splits and we decide: left or right
as either choice leads to a 
bridge crossing the stream
where for each the trail rises
again to a higher point and
once again the choice of left-turn
right-turn confronts us. Sun
filters golden rays of light 
and heat through the leafy canopy
shielding us from midday
discomfort and a freshening breeze
casually sweeps aside insects
from their irritating intentions.
This is a day when nature
offers her benign face. There
are no intrusions to complicate
our casual pleasure. Wild apple
trees prematurely drop unripe
fruit, buttercups catch stray
sunbeams and radiate that energy
back to the sky while a pair of
circling hawks coasting on the
wind whistle their presence to
the small  furry creatures
cowering in the crotches of
evergreens, safe when still.