He did as most would do.. Agreed……. Yes… He was Terry. Well. It seemed to fit for the time being. He was upset at first. After years… yes years… well 2 at least. Telling her that he did not want to be known… knowing that he had so much to lose. She didn’t care. Pressing on, she wanted to know it all. So close she came, at times, but… still far enough away. So when she gave up a name… who wouldn’t go for it?…. Then she said she was afraid… He did not know what to do… As harmless as he was, he felt her fear, He was afraid. Thinking that she was looking over her shoulder all of the time…. He wanted to comfort her, and tell her not to worry, but…. He wasn’t sure how she would feel. At the same time, He didn’t want her to think that he was lying… all this time… Mechanical engineering degree…. Travel the world.. all of it was true… and sure, it matched a description of someone that she has heard about… but not this one… No not this one…
Despite what her friends say, she is safe, he is not the guy that will hurt her, in fact… his intentions are only to help her… If she could only realize that… So, to get to the point…who she thinks is he, is not. BUT what she wants him to be is… The one who would do anything for her, who would walk across the earth for her, who would climb any mountain… The boy she needs, the boy who needs her…He is.... But, In theory…. He is not this boy… Why? Because this boy fears her… This boy has been played…. This boy has been in a position that this boy will never put himself in again…..
So… He apologizes for making her believe that he is someone that he is not, but.. In fact, he is what he has told you.. He is a person that has learned a lot from his past, he is a person that knows what he wants, needs, desires… but also, what he doesn’t need….. And as much as She wants, she is better off not wanting or knowing him. Only he knows that…. He can only wish that she understands… He is not Terry. Nor Jim, nor Joey nor Casey, nor Steve... He is. DS. To her, it is merely a name. To him, it is much more. He can only wish that she understands.
So... That being said, he fears that she fears. But she should not.. For he is only a friend, a friend that would never hurt her, a friend that will always love her, a friend that needs her... and a friend that will be happy knowing that he has a friend that can understand that he is just a friend to her........ a special friend. Exhausted, he falls asleep in the sand... It is December.....

It nearly broke my heart. Standing at the airline terminal waiting for a friend, I was enjoying the hustle and bustle. Children were running and screaming, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their mom or dad, or an aunt they had only heard about.
She walked through the exit with her super-sized backpack and a tight pink t-shirt that read “ I love cute boys”. You could see the excitement in her face as the automatic doors swung open and she scanned the crowd for a loved one. The smile stuck for a few seconds, then she looked downward in embarrassment for not being able identify anyone in the audience. She slowly walked through, glimpsing up from time to time hoping to see open arms running towards her. She made her way to window by the coffee stand where she dropped her bag and collapsed in the chair head heavy. The rain streaming down the glass must have made her feel that much worse.

I wish this was home.

I’d like to think that it got its name from the dark volcanic rocks that the cold fresh water carved it’s way through for hundreds of years. It is a vast and magical place, but in the heart of this remote country, is a small but significant water course. The Black River. Marked only with a small sign on a curving, one lane rural road, most would drive on by…. sipping their double-doubles, or singing out loud to their windshields. I nearly went off the road when I first came across it. Nature’s autumn flare is at its best here. Maple trees line the highway, dressed in reds and yellows but smartly broken by a nice mix of white and red pine.

Beautiful girl

It poured that day.
Poured....
I decided to walk to my latest "spot".
It'll be hard to put it into words.... I can try.
Picture yourself......
dark sky.... grey.. pouring rain...
Hardwood, mostly maple, the odd oak..and one chestnut tree.
The chestnut stood tall and Proud.
The kind of tree you notice.
I sheltered myself from the rain and thunder.
I made a friend. I sat. In the rain. I was prepared to get wet. And I did.
Just then, a doe walking across the field stopped.
She smelled me. She couldn't see me. I was still.
She looked right at me. After a few seconds that seemed like minutes I said...
"you're beautiful". She ran. Like the wind.
I stayed, hoping for my next encounter with nature.
Not that day. Although....I went home happy.

Electrical anonmaly

There was a time, where I thought that all was well.
Then, it seemed, that everything happened all at once.
My world was flipped, from grey to dark.
Upside was down, right side was left.
I decided to deal with the change.
I was 26, all on my own. Frightened, but strong.
I turned to God. My saviour. I followed his path.
I was tempted, as all are, and still am.
However, I can see it.
It's a tough road. But certainly a straight road.
There are times where it is easy to deviate from His path.
But a five letter word "straightens the curves and flattens the hills."
Faith. Feel it. It's important.
Fear not. He died for you.
And your sins. Yes... Those ones

missing sand

in a small stretch of country just east of madoc,
beneath the tall pines on red river rock;
a word written carefully, inscribed in the stone;
four simple letters spell the word home.

Biography of a Dreamer

A year ago today, I took the time to jot down the details of a dream that I had the night before. I posted them on a website I had heard about while taking in a live show one night in Halifax. It was a big deal for me. I was never one for displaying my thoughts. As a child there was no time for that. From a young age I was shuffled out the door early in the morning. "Go amuse yourself". Then there were my brothers. Rough types to say the least. I learned early on that I was different. They would spend their mornings setting traps for squirrels and rabbits and afternoons hewing living trees to make forts. They spent their allowances on pellet guns and sling shots. I saved mine.

I was born in a small rural town in Nova Scotia and moved quite often as a child. Central northern Nova Scotia was a place that I spent a lot of my time. My grandparents lived there. Any time my mom was getting ready to move, I found myself there . “Just until everything was settled”.

I took an interest in mechanics at a young age. I could often be found in my grandfathers barn with his tools. My first major project was dissembling an old rotor tiller just to see what made it tick. I had a tough time putting it back together but succeeded with the aid of my grandfather. He was a warm man who had the patience of a saint. His knowledge of living things was something I cherished. I learned a lot about nature from him. I was 14 when he died, and still struggle with his loss. I had intended to stay with my grandmother for a while to comfort her and ended up living with her until I went to college. She is a lovely woman. I often see her smile when I close my eyes.

I finished college and completed a mechanical diploma shortly after. I spent days working for a very successful consulting firm and nights taking accounting courses with the intention of starting my own business. Finally I partnered with a classmate and by the age of 25 I was co-owner of a successful mechanical contracting company.

Unlike the horror stories you hear from other business owners, we were fortunate. With the expansion of the oil and gas industry offshore, our timing could not have been more perfect. However, things came to a crashing halt after our second fiscal year, when I found I could no longer trust my business partner. I found myself at work for long hours meticulously watching every detail. I was slowly fatiguing. I began to self-reflect and decided that I needed a change.

After settling the financial aspects and selling my share of the company, I spent a bit of time fumbling around trying to decide what to do. The last year has been interesting. My newest venture, which consumes most of my free time excites me. In fact, I have several chapters already written.

Fallen

She smiled and said “thank you” as I held the door that led into the magnificent foyer at the foot of the towering office building. It was the second time in as many days that we walked in from the cold together. But this time it wasn’t by chance. I tried to respond to her gratefulness but found myself incapable of speaking. I smiled and blushed as she swept her straight jet black hair from her face and avoided my eyes. I bit my lip when the scent of her hair reached me.

I noticed her yesterday morning when she entered the room. She walked confidently across the front of the classroom and took an empty seat near the front. I was exactly four seats back, and one row to her left. It was from here that I secretly admired her for the rest of the day. Something about her makes me warm inside. Something else about her frightens me. Her heir of humility and confidence attracts me.

Her name is Chloe and her least favourite vegetable is turnip. Or at least that is how she responded to the quirky instructor’s break the ice exercise at the beginning of our three day training session. She has dark skin and her hazel eyes would make the setting sun reverse its course.

Our eyes met at the end of today’s session for a fraction of a second longer that they should have. Long enough to substantiate my crush. Tomorrow could be the last time I ever see her. My heart skips a beat at the very thought of initiating a conversation with her. Time will tell.

Confusion

A loud crash threw him from sleep as broken glass and bits of dream showered over him. The pitch blackness was blinding, but shadows even darker scurried into the deepest cracks of night. A furious gasp broke silence as he could no longer hold his breath. His heart thumped with anxiety and fear as he was pulled from his cot by a thick length of rope and led slowly across the shattered cubes of glass strewn about the cold cement floor. His cut and swollen feet were cold and numb to the pain. He stumbled clumsily and fell to his knees. His scream muffled by his own socks that were stuffed in his mouth. Forced to his feet, he struggled on, his mind trapped somewhere between reality and unconsciousness.

Large shapes became visible as light crept through a doorway ahead. As the luminous source grew nigh, the air turned cool and a familiar fragrance drifted about. The steel door was pried open and sunlight flooded his pupils. Squinting, he struggled to make out the figures. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he was surprised to see her standing quietly with her back to him. Pushed back into life, he fell face first into the snow as the heavy door slammed behind him. She turned. Her face was pale, but her eyes were dark as coal. Walking towards him she whispered…“Why didn’t you tell me?” Confidently looking upward he muttered “You can’t help me”, but the words never reached her. Intending to remove the gag from his mouth she continued to walk towards him but the distance between them never changed. Frantic, she began to run but still no ground was covered. She called out to him in frustration, but the November gale snatched her every word. Resigning to exhaustion she collapsed.

Breakfast with God

Resting comfortably amidst the soft boughs of an ancient white pine, I stared intently toward the eastern sky. I had gained the trust of my coniferous friend before scaling her bottom branches to find a place that could have been made just for me. I leaned my back against her thick trunk and straddled a large branch whose purpose was to shake hands with sun and rain. It was from here that I witnessed the most spectacular sunrise I had ever seen. The night had been clear, so the sky was a dark blue with many visible stars. The eastern horizon began to show signs of life, as He used his thin brush to paint a shade of orange that I have since struggled to describe. His next stroke was of crimson as He delved further into His endless palette. Perfectly merging darkness and life was a deep shade of indigo that contrasted the large black rain clouds. The eerie silhouettes were quickly chased away by the rising glow that peeked over the edge of earth and sky. The forest blushed. I was lost.

Lest We Forget

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

 

the healing process

Unaccompanied he walks,
along river rocks,
for reasons so clear to him.
But what is inside,
can not be described,
by words written on a “whim”.

The peace that he gains,
from the woods when it rains,
he is willing to jot down and share.
But what has happened before,
on a cold distant “shore”,
Is the reason why he is there.

He has seen the naïve,
who pretend to believe,
that it is only the surface that’s scarred.
“Footsteps” may “taunt” her,
but the “truth” will haunt her,
for his heart is eternally marred.

She sees not his favour,
and the hurt that he saves her,
by remaining hidden from sight.
For there is no tomorrow,
that can rid him of sorrow,
He’ll forever conceal his plight.

Only recently is giving,
his reason for living,
in the past he would only receive.
But when something is taken,
whether lost or forsaken,
a soul does nothing but grieve.

Instead of explaining,
or sadly complaining,
He surrounds himself with the love.
Of the rivers, trees and land,
ocean surf and sand,
provided to him from above.

On the beach at first light,
Or the forest at night,
It is the wilderness that he calls home.
The look in his eyes,
Is what satisfies,
By himself but never alone.

love....respect.....humility

On at least five occasions at precisely the same time, and exact location, Andrew has boarded the bus on which I travel into the city. I didn’t notice anything different about Andrew the first few times, but I soon realized how much of an impact Andrew had on the people in his life.

Each day I found myself sitting closer to the front of the bus to hear what was said between Andrew and Ms. Kirsh. These strangers were unaware that they were introduced to me one morning as I listened to their morning greetings.

Andrew is a bright person who is confident and has the ability to make anyone smile with his sincere words. His dark eyes grow with enthusiasm as he listens to Ms. Kirsh closely. He describes his work with passion and never fails to mention how grateful he is of his colleagues.

Yesterday’s conversation was a bit different. Ms. Kirsh asked Andrew if he had gone through with his plan. My curiosity peaked. Andrew rolled up his sleeve as Ms. Kirsh turned her head in disgust. Tattooed in the finest font across his forearm were three powerful words. My smile broke the silence between the two, and I hid my eyes in shame.

I went out of my way to get off at Andrew’s stop yesterday. I asked him if he would tell me the reason he decided to have those words eternally written on his skin. He simply replied “these words describe me and how I try to treat people”.

I was flabbergasted but managed to show my appreciation by patting him on the back and shaking his hand.

Andrew changed my life.

Out of place

It startled me at first because I wasn’t expecting to see something so large, so close to the wooded trail. Further back, I thought that I had seen a glimpse of it, but refused to believe that this was the same one. After all, it didn’t belong here. I was uncomfortable, so I steered my feet back onto the trail. Cautiously, I looked to my left from time to time to see if it was following. It was, and it was coming closer to the trail. It was tall and black. Longer than any creature I have ever seen. It was ugly, I couldn’t distinguish a face but I knew its intention was to keep me on the trail and away from where I wanted to be. The trees began to thin, and it became completely visible. I stopped and looked at its enormity and wondered. It remained still. Somebody is confused. Was it there to keep me out, or to keep Mother Nature in?


 

Incomplete

Thirsting for knowledge, she searches the shores,
knowing enough, yet still aching for more.
Exhausted and weary with year's end close at hand,
she falls fast asleep in the December sand.

On this lonely quest, it’s answers she seeks,
it's in the world of dream that her curiosity peaks.
But when she gets too close, her eyes open wide,
she awakens alone, near the ocean’s side.

So far from the "usual" her thought path has skewed,
Inspiration and hope need not to be viewed.
Faith is a word that I use to describe
vision with my soul, not with my eyes.

The "B" word

Courage

Her thoughtful and confident steps took her up the walkway in an eerie manner. The row of street lights dimmed in succession as dawn chased away darkness. The damp wood softened her climb to the front porch. Carefully, her hand searched the bottom of her bag for her keys. Turning the key and doorknob in unison, she heard the click and pushed the heavy door open quickly preventing the usual creaking sound. Just as carefully, she closed the door behind her and walked in darkness to the lamp in the corner. Suddenly, the room was illuminated and she gasped as her pupils shrunk in the bright light. “What took you so long?”

A lesson in selflessness

I fell in love today with a stranger. I touched her rough skin and admired her brilliant and colourful personality. I felt ashamed as others passed by without notice. We sat together all afternoon and she listened intently to my thoughts and opinions. Never once did she interrupt. I told her I appreciated her. I think she smiled.

"It doesn't mean that much to me, to mean that much to you"

After stating in my first post that I had no intention of using this website as a journal, I find myself compelled to write as if I am speaking to someone who I would be comfortable speaking to. Ironically, there is a slim chance that anyone would stumble across this post. However, there is one person who may end up here either by my direction (if I decide so) or by what that certain person would call “fate”. Either way, I am comfortable speaking as if that certain person was reading, so I will continue. Oh, and by the way, I do not plan for this style of writing to continue, but can’t be sure of that.

So… I was listening to a local radio station today when I heard a song that flooded my mind with memories of a person who was very special to me at one point in my life. The song wasn’t exactly a song that we enjoyed together, but one that was performed by an artist that I listened to during that tumultuous time in my life. A time that I would completely like to forget about if it wasn’t for this one person. We were involved in one of those immature “hurt – hurt relationships” where we would take turns pretending we were in love one minute, and then utter words of hate the next. I have often thought of this person in the past, but not so much lately. What implores me to speak of this person all of a sudden, when before I would only have passing thoughts? Well, it is something that I said to this person. A lyric from the song that I quoted in context for the purpose of inflicting emotional pain… For the purpose of hurting that person as much as they hurt me. How unbelievably selfish of me!

I am happy to say that I view things quite differently now. If by some cosmic chance "you" read this, and "you" will know who "you" are.... please accept my sincerest apologies again.

Emotionally spent,

"U"... as in me

So hear I sit, in my “favourite spot”. Correct. That is a u in favourite, Just like in behaviour, labour, harbour, colour and so on. Why? Well, that is the Canadian way of spelling those words, and if I am in Canada, I will spell them that way.

My “favourite spot” is new. I have had others, in different parts of the country and even in different parts of the world. I’m sure that there are many “favourite spots” out there belonging to others, and likely just as many “favorite spots”. To me, a “favourite spot” is a specific place in the world where I feel at home. A place where I can fall asleep without inhibition, where I can gather my thoughts and most importantly admire the natural surroundings. As you may have guessed already my “favourite spot” has to be outside.

This one happens to be on a brilliantly coloured wooded trail that was used as a railway in the past. Although quite overgrown, I discovered this trail by accident on the weekend and explored it for the better part of my first Sunday in this “neck of the woods” so to speak. It was then I had noticed rotted tar soaked timber in several places and even old iron spikes in-bedded in the soil. This particular spot boasts a rock jutting out of an embankment that runs steeply upwards from the northeast side trail. Although not visible from the trail, there is a gentle flowing river to the southwest that winds through a hardwood valley thick with yellows, oranges and reds. One area of the rock overhangs the trail, which is approximately 15 metres below. While sitting on this rock, one has a spectacular view through decaying hardwood leaves of the entire valley.

For now I am content. I have been a bit of a wanderer in the recent past (<--oxymoron?). Not sure where to go from here. Or what to do. What else would you expect from one who calls a rock home. I have been inspired as of late to write and travel. Or is that to travel and write? Its beginning to rain, I must save this, hide my laptop and post this when I get back.

Waiting for a brighter day,

"No Phone, no phone"

It captured me today. For the first time in a long time. It grabbed me, erased my memory of thoughts, and prevented my eyes from focusing on the gloomy city streets. I can’t remember the last time that this happened, but I welcomed it. I immediately ended my mundane errands and hurried into the coziest looking café on the street, ordered a $5 coffee and plunked myself down into an oversized, paisley patterned green chair. The chair offered a close up view of one of the busiest intersections in the city, or so I imagined. Out came my black notebook to mop up the creativity that was about to pour out of my newly acquired pen. I waited…..

After finishing the coffee, I had nothing to account for but a page full of obscured drawings and the uncanny ability to annoyingly repeat a catchy phrase from a song that was played on the radio sometime earlier in the day. Afraid to give up my view of this particular slice of the city, I ordered another coffee and tried not to think.

Unfortunately, what I was hoping would happen simply didn’t. I wasn’t able to capture any great thoughts on paper. I did however walk away with something. I really enjoyed myself on that busy street corner. The rain seemed to lower my inhibitions about life in the city. It literally washed them away. I have always enjoyed the rain, but never the city. Maybe I was narrow-minded. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so critical of new things.

Appreciating the unappreciated,

Beating the morning mourning

Its Sunday, It used to be that day where I could think about nothing but Monday. It is different now. I enjoy Sundays. Although this one is filled with rain and gloominess. I have decided to put on my rain gear and venture into the forest. Maybe in a spot that I have never been. Yes. Time to pack a lunch and prepare a thermos of hot tea. Anyone want to join?

'tis all for now.

The first of many

Figured I would sit out on the "veranda" for my first post. Very interesting site I must say, although I had to choose so many different names to register I am not sure if I will ever be able to sign in.

I was directed here by a friend, one that likely does not know that they have purusded me to document my thoughts. Afterall, I am not your average journaler. In fact I intend not to use this as a journal, but more as a creativity log.

You see, I believe that I was put on this earth to work with my hands, not with my mind, but one day some sort of inspiration welled up inside me and exploded into words that I recorded. It captured the attention of someone. It has taken me quite some time to value their advice. Today is my first attempt at acting on it.

More to come.