For Easter

Beyond the obvious, that today is when many people around the world celebrate Easter, I don't have much to say. 

Instead, just a photo of the kitchen counter, crowded with some of life's simple pleasures, one I call "Still Life with Eggs" perhaps in the mode of how my inspiration, Maude, titled her paintings.  

The moon comes announcing Easter

Kind of an eerie photo from the other night, but one I thought captured some of the mystery of the full moon. 

This one, which technically arrived just after midnight (here in the Pacific Zone) on Monday, is apparently called the Worm Moon, something I would never have known without all the crazy information here on the internet. 

It's also the full moon that determines the date for Easter. This celebration, one that I mostly celebrate with coloured eggs and chocolate (mmmm...), takes place the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. This formula was apparently one of the matters determined in the year 325 by the Council of Nicaea. From what I can tell, the folks who gathered at this meeting made decisions about nearly all the tenets that form the basis of Christian beliefs. 

The other event I managed to miss the other night when that full moon was official was a partial lunar eclipse, an occurrence that this time serves as a kind of warm-up act for next month's solar eclipse. But then, I'm not on the track where that will be visible so I'll have to be satisfied watching it (as it sometimes seems I spend so much of my life) online. Still, pretty miraculous. 

Poetry, poetry, poetry

Today is World Poetry Day, a time when it seems appropriate to remember Brian Brett, a poet and friend who died earlier this year. 

When I met him, he was 21, and I wasn't much older, so we've had a few years to get in each other's hair. 

He spent a third of his life in White Rock, and was a feisty member of the community I've been part of for more than half of my life. If you clicked on the link in the line above this, you might still be blinking from all the flashy lights. Trust me, the place used to be much different--White Rock was quite a sleepy little seaside town where most of us had at least a passing recognition of one another. The sea is still here, though to get near it by car, you need to be prepared to pay hefty parking fees. 

But this isn't about the town (even though Brian served a couple of terms as a City Councillor, a position that was then back known as 'alderman'); it's about poetry and one of the finest writers to ever pass through here. 

The photo above, though it's not easy to see, is one of the touching mementos his family set out at his recent memorial service. It's the chair where he often sat (and nearly always pontificated from), along with a favourite hat and vest, as well as his famous peacock-themed suspenders. 

Without much poking around on YouTube, it's easy enough to find videorecordings of Brett reading his work, but to get you started, here's a link to one of the shorter (and funnier) ones--a good way to celebrate both Brian and World Poetry Day. 

Springing ahead to spring

Last weekend saw us springing ahead with the clock, shifting to Daylight Saving Time. This weekend, with the weather warming up so nicely, has seen me springing ahead with some of the clean-up chores out in the yard. 

My big project for the year is always my blackberry patch. Knowing what I do about how many trees and vines won't be bearing fruit this summer has made it seem all the more important to look after my little berry patch. 

Although some of the berries I leave on it may serve as a food source for birds in the winter, mostly what lingers can only be deemed a mess. 

Every spring those tangled branches leaning on the fence get a severe haircut--at least that's how I like to think of it--getting prettied up for the season. 

And even as I chop at the dead and stringy branches, I can't help but think of the other aspects of spring cleaning this project always brings to mind. Tossing any item in the fridge (usually a condiment) that hasn't been used, and moving along clothes or books I no longer need (an ongoing, year-round quest). 

Pruning also always reminds me of the editing process: cutting out the dead wood (or words that don't need to be there), and then trying to shape the plant (or the essay or poem) into a shape where it will be most productive and effective. 

The bin full of branches still needs to go into the container the recycling truck will pick up this week, a service I am always grateful for--at least as grateful as I will be for the bounty of daily berries in summer. 

It's a sign!

Yep. That's exactly what it is, and I'm not the person who made it. 

I discovered it the other day when I was going up our laneway--probably the single day in a long while that I didn't have my camera on hand. 

But the sign was just toooo good, especially with International Women's Day on the horizon, so home I went and got the shot. A lucky thing, as only a few hours later, it was gone. 

With all the horrors that have been going on in the world, I can only hope that it's a sign of good things to come.