The snow gone, though maybe only briefly given how it works here.

What caught the eye: the shadows moving on the steep banks of the Thompson, an eagle soaring in the cold north wind, the crunch of last years grasses, and the stubborn bits of green between the stalks.

Poor old neglected blog.

Tuesday Morning Walking Group


Recently proposed by a friend, and eagerly embraced by a number of people, every Tuesday if at least two people are up for it, we walk. Its a loop, about 7 km. The group is proving diverse: in age, experience, background. Seems the common denominator is a love of where we find ourselves.

The photo above is our starting point. (Across the river on the pedestrian bridge to the other side, past the farms, greet the various dogs,  catch the ferry, and oh what a surprise, end in the coffee shop.)


Quick post. I should stick a picture of knitted socks up, given those are the recent projects, amongst some other things, including spinning. As usual for this knitting blog, no photographic evidence.




Sunshine just told me that Oon means “wool” in Hindi. Seems a suitable name for this little sweet faced toy from the gift exchange at the spinning retreat.

Desert Mesa Spinning retreat in Cache Creek was great fun. Lots of congenial company, knowledgeable spinners, and laughter. Bill did a minor adjustment to my wheel. (He gave it an experienced “whack” and corrected something that has been a bother for months. Bless him!) Participants from all over the province, a very supportive atmosphere. Spring and fall events to anticipate.  Rural life is proving very interesting indeed.



Barb sent this the other day. (Cross posted on Facebook so some repetition) The sentiment is appreciated.



A Poem…


The Wings of Daylight

Brightness appears showing us everything
it reveals the splendors it calls everything
but shows it to each of us alone
and only once and only to look at
not to touch or hold in our shadows
what we see is never what we touch
what we take turns out to be something else
what we see that one time departs untouched
while other shadows gather around us
the world’s shadows mingle with our own
we had forgotten them but they know us
they remember us as we always were
they were at home here before the first came
everything will leave us except the shadows
but the shadows carry the whole story
at first daybreak they open their long wings


William Stanley Merwin




From a recent hike. The poem, just because I rather like it.

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Smoke Series


A bit of restlessness, borne of a bit of house arrest due to the smoke levels made a road trip, just for the morning, necessary. The province, a good deal of it, is on fire.

It is a day of sharp edges today. The smoke a part of it. Of course, like all things, it passes.

(A neighbour told me the wind will change tonight, and the smoke will likely be as if it never was. But the evacuees and the beings in the line of fire remain. It seems wrong to light a stick of incense in this case, and so I don’t. Offering merit isn’t dependent on that anyway.)