Autumn Is

Autumn is heaven's gilded frame on faded summer; 
a vault door opening to winter treasure; 
compensation for all that is not, was not, cannot be.



Photo: Bluerock Wildlands 2010, personal collection

Life is Not a Highway

Some might say life is a highway
but I much prefer life lived on neighborhood streets,
holding hands in hospitals, meandering back roads
or mountaintop paths with friends.
A life of honest conversation, laughter and song,
whimsy and character and possibility,
the heritage of farmhouse, harvest, horses, hard work,
corn on the cob, newly dug potatoes, hand cranked ice cream,
perseverance, weather worn, quiet afternoons by the pond,
little girl giggles, tea parties, games of tag, fireflies,
pastels, cinnamon buns, white eyelet curtains ruffling the breeze.



Photo credit: Joyce Rempel, Cranking Ice Cream at Heritage Park

Familiarity

when I smooth back my wet hair
how I look like my brothers, the shape
of rising cheeks and hooded eyes
salt-and-pepper roots older than time
Mom’s Jantz curl frizzing at the temples
a right-side cowlick over the high
forehead she always tried to cover
using a lock coloured with Loving Care
horizontal lines map tired paths
beneath my chin and toothy smile
vertical lines between my brows
plow deeper furrows as I lean
into the vanity mirror searching
for something far deeper
than the size of my pores