The Cariboo Road

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Hard to believe isn’t it? This is the beginnings of the road that I drove yesterday, taking oh, about three hours to get to Lytton from Vancouver. The road took three years to complete, and took weeks to accomplish what a fast car and light traffic does in barely any time at all.

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View of the meeting of the rivers, the Fraser and the Thompson yesterday.

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This statue has travelled much further than that. It comes from the Rajgir area of India, not too far from Vulture Peak. From there to here – many miles. I had no altar cloth so a handwoven towel will do for now. In our practice we light incense so that it may permeate the surroundings. This particular type of incense is used at a lot of the temples I visit, and while subtle, being a light Japanese pine incense, it immediately invokes home. This was the first incense lit at this particular place.

 

 

 

 

Let Them Not Say

 

 

Let them not say: we did not see it.
We saw.

Let them not say: we did not hear it.
We heard.

Let them not say: they did not taste it.
We ate, we trembled.

Let them not say: it was not spoken, not written.
We spoke,
we witnessed with voices and hands.

Let them not say: they did nothing.
We did not-enough.

Let them say, as they must say something:

A kerosene beauty.
It burned.

Let them say we warmed ourselves by it,
read by its light, praised,
and it burned.

 

Jane Hirshfield

 

With thanks to the American poetry site that sends a poem a day.

Happy Trees

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Painted by Sunshine, happily gives joy every time I look over at it.

Did you know that Bob Ross is on Netflix? Inspiring a whole new generation with soothing words and that great smile of his…moving me to a totally un-ironic thank you!! (I watched this guy as a kid, a lot of us did…)

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Creativity can be such a source of happiness, wherever it comes from, and this painting of Sunshine’s will head out to a wee house to remind me what is important in the big scheme of things.

Here’s to much creativity, and peace in the upcoming year.

Christmas Train

It was a gorgeous trip to Lytton, clear and bright.

Among other things, I attended the Canadian Pacific Christmas train. This is a yearly event, a train that winds its way along the tracks, stopping at small towns. One of the cars opens like magic and a band appears, plays some seasonal songs and carries on to the next place. It’s a big time fundraiser for local food banks, there are speeches, there are thanks given, and mostly, there is minus fifteen (celsius that is with a wind chill of much colder) boogie-ing. The band was The Odds and it was fun!

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This last shot was taken by merely turning around at the performance site. The village of Lytton, with the Fraser River beginning to ice up in the background.

(It’s good to drop Scrooge tendencies sometimes. When one does that, one discovers things. For example, you can dance like mad in layers of wool and big boots. You may not be able to identify your partners thanks to toques and scarves and other face coverings, but that just adds to it. )

 

 

More Found Words…

The Garden

Helen Hoyt

Do not fear.
The garden is yours
And it is yours to gather the fruits
And every flower of every kind,
And to set the high wall about it
And the closed gates.
The gates of your wall no hand shall open,
No feet shall pass,
Through all the days until your return.
Do not fear.

But soon,
Soon let it be, your coming!
For the pathways will grow desolate waiting,
The flowers say, “Our loveliness has no eyes to behold it!”
The leaves murmur all day with longing,
All night the boughs of the trees sway themselves with longing…

O Master of the Garden,
O my sun and rain and dew,
Come quickly.

 

(this is in the public domain from poets.org which sends a new poem every day. Some get deleted, some not.)

 

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View of Lytton from across the river.

This post is dedicated to Joey, a ferociously loving dog who left his body behind this morning. And to his devoted companion who cared deeply for him.

 

Found Noodling around the Net

The Sudden Walk
by Franz Kafka
Translated by Willa and Edwin Muir
When it looks as if you had made up your mind finally to stay at home for the evening, when you have put on your house jacket and sat down after supper with a light on the table to the piece of work or the game that usually precedes your going to bed, when the weather outside is unpleasant so that staying indoors seems natural, and when you have already been sitting quietly at the table for so long that your departure must occasion surprise to everyone, when, besides, the stairs are in darkness and the front door locked, and in spite of all that you have started up in a sudden fit of restlessness, changed your jacket, abruptly dressed yourself for the street, explained that you must go out and with a few curt words of leave-taking actually gone out, banging the flat door more or less hastily according to the degree of displeasure you think you have left behind you, and when you find yourself once more in the street with limbs swinging extra freely in answer to the unexpected liberty you have procured for them, when as a result of this decisive action you feel concentrated within yourself all the potentialities of decisive action, when you recognize with more than usual significance that your strength is greater than your need to accomplish effortlessly the swiftest of changes and to cope with it, when in this frame of mind you go striding down the long streets – then for that evening you have completely got away from your family, which fades into insubstantiality, while you yourself, a firm, boldly drawn black figure, slapping yourself on the thigh, grow to your true stature.

All this is still heightened if at such a late hour in the evening you look up a friend to see how he is getting on.

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Photo from a long drive taken this summer, to the end of the road.