Magic in the forest

Even though Solstice has come and been, it hasn't been easy to convince myself that it's summer. It might be officially so, but the weather hasn't agreed. It's been cool temps, with the occasional light rain spitting just enough to dampen spirits.

Although I've put in some hours on a contract project, made a few jars of jam, and kept up with the usual domestic chores, with the weather so cool, I've mostly just wanted to curl up with a comforter, quietly turning pages, reading. And while I've managed plenty of that, yesterday brought a different kind of interlude.

A friend had done some repair work on an old violin we've had poking around here, and when he brought it over, he also brought his own. Not only did he bring it, he played an entire concert for us --

outdoors, of course, complete with the requisite social distancing.

It was pretty magical looking into the trees of our mini-forest while the music drifted over us. And maybe doubly magical for me, as the book I've been immersed in, Greenwood by Michael Christie is permeated with such a deep understanding of the forest and the interrelatedness of the trees that abide in it. It feels as though I've been living and breathing trees all week. Not a bad feeling at all, especially when accompanied by a private concert.

And now, I am hearing that there are violin concerts across the US, commemorating yet another man beaten to death by police. Devastating.

Row on row

The other day, because I had a small somewhat out-of-town errand to run, I had the good fortune to drive past a place I call my 'favourite' field. The farmer was on his tractor and in the process of cutting the hay.

A lot of people would likely sneeze at the thought of witnessing such an event -- and probably if I'd hung around for any length of time, I would have too -- but I found it so beautiful I had to stop and take a quick photo. The shot doesn't begin to match how gorgeous (at least to me) it actually was, still, it might give you a bit of glimpse of the freshness and the greenness of the tidy rows.

And then, because I always like to find some kind of theme for a post, I started fiddling around and looking for something along the line of rows.

Of course, "In Flanders Field" came up, but I knew that wasn't what I wanted, so on with the search I went -- until I found this very old poem, "Row On", credited to being found in the logbook of a whaling ship. The chorus especially, with its line, "There's dawn beyond the night" seemed apt for the difficult days we're in, a reminder that hope lies over the horizon, but that it's there, waiting.

Neighbourhood bunnification

  
I'm not sure why, but lately there's been a proliferation of bunnies around here. They're awfully good at holding still -- something I'm sure they do as a protective response, feeling safe as if they're wearing little invisibility cloaks. I don't mind, as that stillness makes it easier to take photos, even allowing me to zoom in on them.

And no, they're not part of our city's official beautification plan, though I admit to seeing them a bit
that way.

They tell me that our little biome, a mini-version of the temperate rainforest, must seem natural enough for them to move in. Although, maybe it's because we're one of the only such areas left around here.

I hope that's not the reason, and can only say I'm grateful for bunnification over gentrification, though I suppose not everyone will agree that a neighbourhood in suburbia isn't already 'gentrified' space. Still, we're seeing an awful lot of mega-development nearby and know that it's only a matter of time until we'll be crowded out by giganto homes and/or condo developments.

For now at least, home still feels like a haven, even after having been mostly confined to it for so many weeks.

And in case the bunnies want to move in and stay, we've even built a tiny little house for them. Silly? Probably. Fun? For sure.

Sturdy

Resilience.

Understanding.

Justice.

Acceptance.

These are big words. Unfortunately, they're words I'm not hearing often enough. And I'll admit, I dread watching what might transpire in tonight's news.

As always, I find myself turning to poetry. Here's a piece I found on one of my favourite websites. It's called "Any Light" and was written in response to events of the past week. It's posted on Rattle Magazine's website, and they've set it up so you can listen to the poem while you read it.

As for today's odd photo, it's a dandelion that found a way to grow through a fence -- an example of the sort of sturdy resilience we all seem to need these hard days. And it's not just me feeling this way. The theme for our local arts council's current show is also Resilience. Have a look.