New shoulders, new roads

In Canada we joke that we have two seasons: winter and construction.

From when the snow melts in spring until it builds up in mounds again the following winter, barriers and pylons obstruct streets and roads.

Three large road construction vehicles line up behind a orange barrier. A sign on the barrier reads, "Danger due to construction."
Danger due to construction

This summer my home lay at the heart of a vortex of road improvements. Crews tore up ditches in one direction to make room for bicycle lanes. Workers in another direction stripped old asphalt, shored up the shoulders with thick gravel, and laid down a fresh layer of pavement.

View up the hill of a country road with new gravel shoulders and fresh pavement. Construction pylons frame the road at the top of the hill.

While construction was underway, the posted signs read, “Danger due to construction.” Now I walk along this road, with its strong shoulders and new pavement—construction danger in the past.

The unblemished brightness of it symbolizes to me the fresh start of autumn. As road construction slows down in our northern climate, we begin different kinds of construction. New school projects, new organizational meetings, new roads to new adventures.

I wonder what I’ll build this winter? What dangers will I face? I can’t wait to find out.

What are you constructing these days?

Still learning after all these years

This morning on my morning walk with a friend, we watched a fox scramble up a gate and scamper along the top of a fence like a squirrel. (Very much like in the third photo below.)

I grew up on a farm. I’ve lived a long time. How did I not know that foxes could do that?

I love that life offers surprising gifts of learning every day, no matter how old a person gets.

https://www.tumblr.com/everythingfox/180959995991/meet-zorro-the-fox-who-visits-me-every-day-for-the

Different kinds of writing

Someone could get to thinking that I have fallen out of the writing habit, given that it’s been a while between posts.

Not the case. Every day I do some kind of writing: content for websites at work, documents for organizations I volunteer with, or simple journaling for myself. Those words end up in the world, but not in this place.

One of my favourite daily writing practices involves Twitter. Every day (or most days anyway) I craft a very short story through the hashtag #vss365. That is, a Twitter-length story based on a prompt word, 365 days a year. Here a few of my favourites.

What kind of writing have you been doing lately?

Beltane: Turn and return

A bright fire to you all. We turn and return.

Where I live the pouring rain of dreary spring lingers still. I hope that where you are the sun of coming summer is shining.

Poetry month: Found poem

“Found poems take existing texts and refashion them, reorder them, and present them as poems. The literary equivalent of a collage, found poetry is often made from newspaper articles, street signs, graffiti, speeches, letters, or even other poems . . . A pure found poem consists exclusively of outside texts: the words of the poem remain as they were found, with few additions or omissions. Decisions of form, such as where to break a line, are left to the poet.”

—poets.org

With the guidance of JC Sulzenko, I crafted a found poem. (Find it at the end of this post.)

Here is the process:

  • Find a source text. It could be a table of contents, or a series of titles, or a restaurant menu.
  • Either erase words you don’t want to include in your poem, or highlight words that attract you.
  • Create a poem with the chosen words.
  • The words should appear in the same order as the source material. (Perhaps with some allowances for changes in grammar or punctuation.)
  • Credit your source(s)!

Here is the source that JC provided for us. It is a list of best-selling book titles. 

I Will Find You
Spare
A Death at the Party
The Movement Miracle
It starts with Us
8 Rules of Love
Women Talking
Run Towards the Danger
Worthy Opponents
Paris
Old Babes in the Wood
The Myth of Normal
The Book of Rain
Love, Pamela
Hello Beautiful
The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and the Horse
Birnam Wood,
12 Rules of Life
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow
Murder at Haven’s Rock
Song of the Sparrow
Kunstlers in Paradise
Greenwood
When the Body Says No
Pure Colour
Ducks
Someone Else’s Shoes
Young Forever
The Story of Us
Rez Rules
The Light We Carry
Eight Strings
Scattered Minds

And here is the poem I found there.

SPARE

At the party
women 
worthy opponents, rain love.
The fox rules paradise,
us.

Try it. It’s fun. What poem can you find in the list of titles?

When you start to think, stop.

“My gauge each day, in all things, is simply this: Is what I’m choosing (to think, do or say) moving me closer to my Creator or farther away? For this question, I am immensely thankful. It saves me an awful lot of backtracking, worry lines, frustration, angst and apologizing. Today and every day, I give thanks for my ability to exercise power of choice—even when I’ve chosen wrong.”

—Richard Wagamese in EMBERS: ONE OJIBWAY’S MEDITATIONS

Years ago I attended a writing workshop led by Richard Wagamese. His process, he told us, was to go for long walks in the hills and tell himself a story out loud as he climbed. When he returned home, he’d write it all down, letting the words pour unto the page. He’d write, he said, until he “started to think.”

When thoughts began to run through his head—”Is that the right word?” or “Should I take that part out?” or “This is the worst thing ever”—it was time to stop.

The words weren’t coming from Source anymore.

At the workshop he invited participants to give him a topic—any topic—so that he could tell us a story. Several times he received his subject, reflected only for a second or two, and then began to speak.

In a miraculous way, he opened himself up to become a channel for story. He surrendered to it. Story unfolded through him, complete and beautiful from beginning to end.

I think of this often, when my hands hover over laptop keys, uncertain. Or when those questions or comments start to circulate. “Does this word belong?” or “Is that part too long?” or “Am I wasting my time with this?”

I’m no Richard Wagamese, but I try to recreate what he showed to me that day, not only in writing, but in day-to-day life. For stories or for difficult decisions, I try to open, to surrender, and to allow the unfolding.

When I manage it, even a little, I’m surprised by how complete and beautiful it all turns out, from beginning to end.

And when I start to think, I stop.

Cover of Embers: One Ojibway's Meditations by Richard Wagamese