A day.

giggling
Originally uploaded by blueolive.

favourite moments of the day:
a five year old said to me
what is the closest planet to the sun
'mercury'
'no, the sun!'
'The sun is a star...the bigges star' (as though that would be a consolation for the information)
the child barely took a moment before rephrasing the question:
'ok, then: what is the closest planet to the earth?'
'mars or venus...i think.'
'no!! (with glee) the EARTH!

later...
bonding with the two dearest children/nosomuchchildren to my heart,
laughing together
while the house is asleep...

earlier...
bike rider passes me speaking to myself out loud (memorizing lines), on the street side...waiting for the caravan of love memories and holders of my history to arrive...only to hear my self glance up in reply to a barely heard question
'pardon' in french
'La Dispute par Marivaux?' says the bikerider, one foot still perched as though about to take off again, the other resting on the pavement of the fresh bike lane, patiently waiting for my reply
'oui' ( i say as though to mean, yeah, pretty neat eh?)
'(i get a goodbye nod and the patient foot pushes off, accompanied by a meaningful look that says, yeah, pretty neat.., in french ;))'

*extatic about random FRENCH stranger interacrtion.

and promptly followed by a ride in the caravan...right up until bedgiggling relief at the end of the day.

dreams and movement

Garden of Oz IV
Originally uploaded by Meloses.

i dreamed of my own ending
not that i ended but that i knew 'tomorrow' would be my ending,

the frantic pace of trying to spend all my last moments with people i care fore and loved, and understanding the necessity for incision like precision in sacrificing moments
i just didn't have
the time
to live

left traces in my waking
furrowed brow,chest tingling, dreamsparks releasing themselves from my body in my early morning
realization that
i have not been
keeping in touch
and that the entire expreience has already been lived before in its ruthless reality.

I understand why the tarot card for change is what it is.

a small death in
a leaving-caught-breath
hopes caught in throats
and
past already grabbing greedily at the present.
And a present burning like a hot cole into an un finished 'et apres...'

dreaming death is startling:
the wisdome that is floating behind it is skirting the edges of my daytime acceptance of nighttime teachings

there are dreams,
and conversations on new bed-edges,
that reveal, in thier after waves, the significance of lifeknowledge that someone must be whispering into me from another plane.
It has an age i dont recognzie.
i am glad for the company

.to change.

friends

friends
Originally uploaded by blueolive.

thanks to the steady stream of people in and out of this new house on the Avenue, I had excellent breakfast company this morning, AND i made a new friend. It was a pinch of montreal a dash of ny and a healthy smattering of T.dot.
who knew
what started as a polite-shy near collision in the evening, a red shirt, a flip-book-quick intro to union/labour camp history--BCto Saskatchewan--delegation to ottawa: the market square in all its neatness was the site of a riot in the 30's-- followed by a house+ viewing of the MUPPET show, and breakfast attended by three, in the morn,
would press through time to revewal a new friend-- even my first TO friend goodbye hug. unbelievable. and its only noon on a rainy day. I am going to plant hostas and daisies under the pine tree next to the dock.
they can welcome you whenever you come to visit...

hum

sunrise
Originally uploaded by Kevin Steele.

i am torn between admiring, as the tourist/guide behind me did a few nights ago, the way that (some of) the little side streets down town become little quiet treed neighbourhoods in their own little front-porched worlds, even though sky-scrapers and towers pierce the dusty/hazy/smoggy sky.
and
my yearning for a small little plateau in a medeveal city...or even a city that remembers the middle ages... or if not the middle ages, likes fountains. I would like to wander the streets of...hum....even montreal would bring me solace. i like my house. maybe that is why it takes me hours to leave it. the kitchen is yellow. the garden treed. unweeded (sort of,depending on what i considred a weed...) and I like the 'dock', hammocks... i think i've run out of time. already. why is that?
tired and a little anxious at the things i cant hold down, or hold near. the flying novelyt is wearing off.
ill try to find it on friday.

full circles

Picture 067
Originally uploaded by DavidJS.

I am trying to let my self be enchanted and appreciative, let this city get just alittle under my skin while keeping a foot in rad-and hanging on to the ical,

so I am making an effort at looking into cracks, faded posters and drawing on conversatons...

and it comes, somtimes in the form of
magic in the city
...last week...
on travels and wanders
it has been the park fare
that has held my heart and captured
my imagination, my holdontothisnowfolater memory.
One day, begining a journey back...back to the brain numbing 'burbs...having skipped the subway to take my feet, to soak up the more intersting gumspattered side-walks
eyes a wandering
i heard drumbeats, after passing some statues and papermache creations in a park to the right of this image ...

the whole setting was turned on its side
my walk home slowed, dawdled,
savouring the people, the park
and when i left it, i did it reluctantly.
so reluctantly that when i heard the music, and then passed the performers-making-music who somehow matched the papermache from the park; made encouraging eyecontact, I did so with full intent to continue home (one of many)...
the sight of them turning the corner
tailcoats and presence going with them,

curiosity awakened
trying to follow but seem nonchalant, using the buildings and park path way as casual disguises...only to timidly sit at the tree line with the other big people, behind the line of children,un abashed at thier closeness to the performers...
and there, i heard a tale of Ovid
on a cooling evening, in a secret park
of a non discript toronto street, lined with little houses carrying pointed green rooves and little front porches...
an enclave in the cement.

it's all about the part-icles in the crack

the performance cycle, fittingly enough
was named: the space between...

full circles
credit for photo: david js on august 8...

Warning: slow release nostalgia/bienvenue a Cafe Nostalgie...

moi
Originally uploaded by blueolive.

and the drip drip becomes
a dive into the basin of breaths in-between, and all encompassing.
here's one:

so it's going to be like this a little squishy to the middle
a little crunched in the ribs a little like falling in to a

crack
i made for myself
and here is a moment I'm glad to save

between the
blinks
and breaths

.happy.
happy birthday

les bonne nuits

les bonne nuits
Originally uploaded by blueolive.

la fete

faire la fete

faire la fete
Originally uploaded by blueolive.

music
in alpine towns
beer on feet
dancing
when i should have been
packing

le jardin

le jardin
Originally uploaded by blueolive.

when I left the lettuce was huge,
and the egg plants and courgettes were bigger than A, which meant definitely bigger than S, mes petits bouts de choux...

shepheard dreams day of a NON

shepheard dreams day of a NON
Originally uploaded by blueolive.

i miss when going here was possible

la maision

la maision
Originally uploaded by blueolive.

Les choses qui me manquent
among others
(things that I miss...
things that miss me?)

chez moi