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I'm an older person so it's probably quite natural that I should reflect back to my younger days as the source of much of my writing. This might sound like an apology, but far from an apology the fact that I am old, and hopefully will grow older, is a source of pride. You see, it's a privilege to have grown old, as many, most, don't.

Birth, Living, Aging

Birth is a miracle shared by many.
Life, living,  with it’s trials and tribulations,  is something to be explored.
Old age,  aging,  is a privilege,  not achieved by all. 

With age comes experience, something that youth should acknowledge. Unfortunately, the youth of our western society tends to shun the old, viewing older persons as used up, husks of former self, a burden, having nothing of value to add to society. It's as if aging is a communicable disease. 

I’m Feeling So Old
I walk down the street, I’m feeling so old,
I’m invisible you see, I’m seventy-five years old.Seventy-five years old, and so much to offer,but society h…


So, where do you think ants go when they die?
Despite my best effort to avoid stepping on living things I've just murdered, accidentally of course, an ant. In my defense, I was momentarily distracted by a teenage bike rider hurtling down the sidewalk towards me. “God”, I think to myself, “doesn't anyone teach these kids that bicycles are not supposed to be operated on the sidewalk”. Anyway, as I was saying,”Where do you think ants go when they die?”.
Ants are one of the oldest living creatures on our planet. I've heard, or read, somewhere that an ant long ago was trapped in a piece of amber that was carbon dated at being some 120 million years old. The amber that is not the ant. At best the ant was, perhaps, a couple of years old. Think of it, this ant made the mistake of stepping into some pine pitch some 120 million years ago and was preserved intact. The really marvelous thing is that from an evolutionary standpoint the ant had already reached its peak physical developmen…


I have this affinity for Raven. A truly intelligent bird with which I've had many encounters while sitting sketching, while canoeing, or cross-country skiing in some wilderness place. Raven has learned to survive in some rather extreme conditions, and to help with survival it investigates all of the creatures, and their actions in its territory.

I recall instances when sitting quietly sketching I would become aware that I was being watched and looking around would find Raven perched in a nearby tree watching my every move attempting, I assume, to determine my purpose for invading its space.

Raven, not unlike myself, enjoys solitude, and has moved ever farther north with the advancement of civilization, an aspect that caught my attention, and resulted in my writing a poem:-

The Raven (Part I)
The raven soared on the wind and drifted south to lands condemned, where crows, and other creatures, much despised, lived lonely lives on land depleted, of forests green, and sparkling waters. As if to…


School Days

While the Indigenous peoples children were being rounded up and being sent to residential schools, we so called white children were obligated to attend public schools. Both systems were designed to help improve literacy, and ensure a place in a white, English dominated society. Both systems seemed with merit, however, the actions by government, and religious institutions, served only to drive a spike into the spirit of unification. Years later, Canada believed to be a multicultural society, is a hodgepodge of misunderstanding, mistrust, and underlying hatreds. Sixth Street Public School

A long time ago, there was a boy. The boy lived in a house on a hill not far from a school that no longer exists, filled with teachers that no longer exist,filled with children who no longer exist, a place where young minds were shaped, andmade to believe that all things were possible.

Duke Pulled At My Socks Still half asleep the boy poked at his Kellog's Rice Krispies while his dog, Duke, …


I’m awakened by the phone ringing. It’s still dark outside. The clockradio reveals that it’s 2:34 a.m.. "Who can it be I think", as I get up out of bed, and head for the phone in the kitchen, “it must be important if someone's calling in the middle of the night." I reach the phone and yank the receiver off of the cradle before it goes to message. “Hello”, I mumble hoarsely. “Hi”, sorry to bother you at this late hour." the person on the other end says. “It’s nurse Jones here. It’s your aunt Fay, your name is on her chart to call in the event of an emergency. She’s had another stroke, and the doctor believes that this one may be fatal.” I’ll be right up”, I reply, and hang up. I get dressed and run a comb through my hair. The hospital is only minutes away. While driving to the hospital I note that it’s very quiet at this time of the night, and the sky is filled with stars. The world, it seems, is at peace with itself. At the hospital I’m directed to one of the …