First Light

In the pale first reflection, daylight approaches. it comes to us quietly, slow and soft. It wakes us from shadow, it prods us with rude intent, bathed in the fresh opening of a new day. First light invites adventure. It rouses us to make ready. It gifts us with sleepy cups of coffee, it reminds us it will not be there for long. We take to the trail. We watch the day dwindle down. Long hours meant for laughter, abandoned comfort for swimming, fish that fry clean, freedom, relief, songs to my inner self shared in the songs of others. Water-weary, remnants of misery, carry-over portage madness, taking us to distant places, towards hospitality and home. We rise, eager to taste the fruit the fir

Live Within the Ambiguity

We search the margins of the world for a returning voice. We ply, in the deepest parts of the night, for starships to carry us, born upon the winds of magic, to deeper resolve. We long for the credible voice, for the echoes return, for the whisper of light, for dawns reassuring. We take part in mystery, often only in words, sorry substitutes for matters of the heart. We live for the silences of the inner worlds to break. To make known our vague and aching miseries, our arching fears, the trembling question, the extended sadness. We wish for a resolved chord, Drumbeats that will not fail us. Smoke from fires, from rocky plateaus, set far out in the distant hills. We suspect silence and absenc

Elders Among Us / Father's Day 2020

In the North, the Aurora Borealis or Northern Lights sometimes flame on cold winter nights. I will always remember a picture an artist painted of this with green and rose streaks sweeping up to the center of heaven. And intermixed between the colors were slight images of Native elders dancing, their long feather headdresses extending to the horizon. I once heard this was a belief among some of the indigenous people. I don’t know if it is true. But I like to believe when you see the Northern Lights you sometimes see ancestors dancing. This reflection is in praise of our elders. It is something I have wanted to do for a long time. It arises out of my counselling practice. So often I would ask

The Canoe Paddle

Who knows where I have travelled, who can tell where I have been? I’ve seen the lodges watching west, I’ve been to continents then unknown. Rivers, valleys, long-steeped canyons, mother-bear home, arctic ice and deer-home. I’ve sung to soldiers in their sleep, been beside them while they lingered, we’ve hunted rice, sought gold and treasure, without complaint, in silence beyond measure. I’ve carried songs, raced furlongs of rip-roar, tabled for your trail lunches, fought for places to end your day. We’ve been a stalwart pair, haven’t we? Time to rest, time for a day-jaunt or two, time to reminisce. time to stoke the fire of a near-forgotten past, to make eyes bright again with the promise of

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Grand Marais, MN 55604, USA

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