My life is a circle and I’m living here in this land that I love and hate and love and hate and learn to love again.
Fall, Winter, Summer and Spring. The best thing about Canada or Turtle Island is all these seasons and colours, I am always astounded.
How can one place have so many colours, so many different worlds to see when you look outside the window?
In the Fall I venture out like a traveller on a walkabout. I have a small bag of strategies and desires. God is the great wind Nodin, and she picks up along the way all my scattered thoughts and impulses and makes sense and motion out of everything. And everything is beautiful.
By December passion has frozen into cold resolve, as I come face to face with the reality of death. Death in the old and the gone. Death in the burial sites we trample on. Death in the living faces that stare back at me at the meeting downtown; death in the Toronto Stock Exchange, death trailing the late night news and then creeping into my heart. There are flurries of romance, parades and processions, but I am wrapped and bundled up in my own self- protective, necessary stuff. And but for the silhouette of now naked trees that stand as signposts and reminders, in Ontario’s winter I would be doomed to forget that once a colourful wind blew around me.
Spring is nothing that it claims to be. All I feel is awareness of all that went array. I want to heal so bad. I want to say I can hear a trickling of a brook or feel life in the crackling of melting snow. But the chilled brown street water is soaking through my salted suede boots, my toes are achy, and it’s an uncomfortable, humiliating walk up to the cross, where I sit alone and wait for my resurrection.
Summer is here and you catch me off guard; showing me that my growth is in your readjustment of my expectations. You go from nowhere to being everywhere. And you heal me while my hands are deep in the earth. My good God just like last year, you heal me. I can sit in the sunshine, and cry a bit at what is gone and the mistakes made, and tie up my apron and see what is here now. There is kale in the garden. There is a boy on my lap. My husband is home from work. Canada is still Canada. I can still dream of a Turtle Island Fall. I’m still here and you are everywhere.