Theresa's Final Gift

I've wandered
from your sheltering hands
to walk in unknown lands,
some full of shadows of many forms
and some with none at all

I've drifted
from the humility of love
gentle acceptance
lost in the swirl of apathy
suffering in scientific tyranny

I've tried
to return, a prodigal daughter
never too far, always listening
for an answer
for that spark of passion
that used to be our guide
leadership without vanity

But when I heard
your most precious daughter
lifted her fist against the sky
cursed the darkness
welcomed the darkest of your enemies
- doubt -

I knew
there always is a place for me
in this family

I looked for proof in light
when, of course,
you are found in darkness

Prince Edward Calls

Prince Edward Island, on the other hand, was a different experience altogether.

How is that? One shore seems so foreign. And another -- not so far away -- feels like home, though it's the first time I've ever laid eyes on it.

Perhaps it was the rolling hills of farmland. It was enough to remind me of my own province: the hay bales, the activity of fall harvest. But their land is not flat, so I could see the delightful patchwork of reds, oranges and yellows embedded in their thick greens. And yet, there was still enough of the clean blue sky for me to see, so my prairie senses would not be suffocated.

And the sea! Red cliffs dropped to the rolling waves, framed by hardy strands of pale green grass. Truly enchanted.

Yes, here, I could transplant myself for a year or two. I have already started to devise ways to return ...

Cape Breton Reflections

I could fall in love with this rugged land,
rough-hewn shores,
grace untouched by fashion

determination in each breathing leaf
shaped by the temperament of each wave that lands
over and over and over again

but as the moments stretch
diving into contented admiration
drowning in each sigh of satisfaction

the truth emerges
this is not my home
and this harbor offers me no shelter

i need not linger
so i throw it a silent kiss
turn my face into the fresh living wind
whisper a prayer of thanks
and move on

around noon, Newport, Rhode Island

15 little white sails popping up from the twinkling blue riveted my attention. A host of young teens were learning to sail in small vessels clearly built for one. They formed an armada of mini-sailboats and their captains efficiently moved within them.

The sea and winds must be their masters in a way the sun is mine. They must time everything according to her tides and currents and his gusts and gales. They seem aware with a set of senses I cannot imagine carrying ... being able to predict and capture the power of the wind in a sail, weaving in and out of their boat, ducking under their ever pivoting sail, the way a boxer incessantly dodges punches.

I -- who grew up land-locked -- who measures the seasons by lengths of days -- not by the temperature of the seas or the strength of the winds ... I wonder what it would be like to have the winds and waters as my master.