Tag: going south

Dream Box

Dream Box

Last year, for less than twenty bucks, I bought this living tree already decorated. I have even reused the string of tiny lights. Two trees are still alive out there because I’m a cheap old knob.
It works for me. Think green!

Feeling miserable as last year’s little Christmas tree, sitting in its little pot on the back on the deck while beat upon by the cold December rain. Nasty blasty weather days are punctuated by clear and cold but penetrating damp days. Solar illumination available 8am to 4pm. Considering weather, economic and political climates we live in probably the best place on earth. Yet, my old bones crave warmer climates. All it takes is money, attitude and a southern latitude. I’m sure someone in Gaza woud be happy to trade places with me.

After the night’s storm
Loneliness of the long distance runner

Last year at this time salmon were spawning like the end of the world. Maybe it was.. They were everwhere, you could walk on them. This year there are hardly any. That is not a sign of end times, climate change or any political malfeasance. It is normal to have fluxuations in all things natural, especially weather and climate. The rest of the effects follow as they always have. There are rich years and then lean ones. Indigenous people starved during low-cycle years and understood that was how it worked. They did not trot around looking for someone to blame. No human has a hand on a switch to control those things, whatever folks may choose to believe. Folks used to accept that fact but now that most of us live in a man-made synthetic environment, many of us look for someone to blame when we’ve planned our picnic wrong.

A different kind of alone. Stuck on a foreign ship in a harbour in the cold pouring rain, can’t go ashore. Waiting for cargo. Thoughts of family at Christmas.
A lovely tradition. Some folks randomly decorate trees along paths in the woods. That never fails to cheer me up.
Ya got the ball!

The wee dogs and I have just returned from our morning outing. It is hammering a very cold December rain mixed with blobs of slush. The girls reluctantly trotted up into the dog park, did their business, and hurtled back to the truck but I forced them to walk one round of the park. They both wear colourful winter rain jackets but they prefered the comforts of home. They’re now laying in front of the fireplace. Through the scudding clouds I can see fresh snow on the mountain behind town. Think I’ll go downtown and line up for a jug of rum.

Cowichan Valley December morning.
Hold on to your dreams
“For a good second look, come back at high tide.”

Sunday morning is blacker than inside a bear but there is no snow on the ground. I guess it is nice that all I have to whine about is the weather. I put hot coffee and food inside my fat belly and then the dogs walk me around an old local farm, We meet kindred spirits out with their lovely dogs. Those pets show their resilience and joy in the moment and keep their complaints to themselves. We have so much to learn from them. If only we would pay attention.

Sometimes we’ve got to SEE the beauty in the things we look at.
“Yep, and be sure to see the things looking at you.”

The month wears on. It’s like a slow skid on a gravel road. I’m tinkering up my recently-bought trailer. Personalizing it, stowing “stuff”, dreaming of fragrant ocean breezes, seeing monster saguaro cacti through the windows, hearing the cry of a caracara. Perhaps that’s the value of the thing, the dream box.

Lone gull on the road to Crofton in the afternoon.
White car passing in Sunday morning red dawn.
Meanwhile, Sunday morning inside.
Softly she snores.

 

Survival = Anger x Imagination Sherman Alexie