Awe inspiring, ever changing, the primordial source of life and of art. In this section, contributors Kirsten Strom, Nina Finley, Sandy Grieve, Natalie Corthesy, Husnia Safari, and Alistair Fraser draw from the physical world.
by Kirsten Strom
Look at you
beard – white – curled by the breeze
Arms and legs fresh to the air
your shirt and trousers short
to the thrust of the wind
like some Norse warlord
bones built for colder climes
I only wish
I’d caught the same resilience
A Delight in Wildness
by Alistair Fraser
In the over half century since I was at Goodenough College, the world’s population has become increasingly urban. Over the years, I also lived in a variety of major cities, yet in retirement I chose to settle on the shore of a mountain lake amidst forests and glaciers in western Canada. From this vantage, my camera and I wander woods and waterways as I delight in wildness.
by Natalie Corthesy
Summer’s persistent wings
flapped against the sombre clouds.
As a child I often dreamed of flying things.
Humming birds dizzily playing hop scotch in my mother’s garden.
Lemon-yellow butterflies filling the buoyant pews
encircling the lignum vitae’s altar of lilac blossoms.
A sad sky swallowed my sun
before I could mount it’s back and glide over the blues.
Pointless to imagine a smoky plume lifting me high.
I grew up into a wild featherless thing. Nobody taught me how.
I never asked for the cage I was given.
It’s too late for me to fly now.
by Kirsten Strom
on a bench
while the world warms up
everyone who sits next to me
remind me of you?
In the mornings on the train
Everyone just barely alive
Wait for your minds
Wait for your feet to unfreeze
Wait for your cheeks to feel
And the sky to crack open
Skimming through the frozen world
Up to your ears
Waiting for dusk to descend
Watching at the coldest point before dawn
I have never felt so at peace
As in this liquid silvered silence
The flickering lights so poignant, so beautiful
like the memory of you
by Sandy Grieve
I’ve come to my fork in the road,
With a knife in my back,
Choking on a silver spoon.
Do I chew the carrot or suffer the stick?
Pushed by the pain or lured by the lick.
It makes no difference to anyone.
Its my voice and my choice to share,
But not this time, it’s up to me.
A decision must be made,
A game must be played.
Of course not all the rules are known.
Too many rules that’s what’s wrong,
Too many, where did they all come from?
Left or right, up or down,
One might work, both might work, or none.
But I’ll tell you, I’ve decided what to do.
With a knife in my back and choking on a silver spoon,
I’ll not let the road dictate to me.
I’m going to go on neither fork,
Instead, I’ll go cross country.