• For the novel not yet written

    This morning I rolled out of bed, grabbed a pen and blank paper, lit the fire, poured a coffee, and wrote a novel. Okay, I didn’t actually write the novel. I plotted it. The…

  • Of a place

    Every so often the Universe takes me on a thought-train ride. Do you understand what I mean by this? I encounter an idea or a passage of writing that captures me, and then for…

  • Rumi showed up in last Tuesday’s mail, twice

    Out here in the bush we pick up our mail once a week, on Tuesdays, when LW drives into town to deliver eggs. It’s always an occasion. When I hear her truck pull up the…

  • Follow me, I’m the pied piper

    Paula Simons wrote so eloquently in the Edmonton Journal on Tuesday about the intimate magic of radio: “We turn on the radio in our kitchen, in our bedroom, in our…

  • Rosehips in August

    The prickly rose hips blush ever deeper as autumn pushes hard against my sultry August mornings. It won’t be long before summer disintegrates & drifts down stream to…

  • I say the name K’san

    Smithers poet Sheila Peters posted Jan Zwicky’s poem “Near” on her Say the Names blog this week. It resonates so strongly with what I was talking about here…

  • OMG

    Every day nonstop for over 30 years, Louie Schwartzberg has photographed time’s miraculous interplay with nature. A pioneer…

  • Fifty years ago, we didn’t call it a tsunami

    © Leslie Prpich, photos used without permission Ask anyone in Port Alberni what they remember about Easter weekend, 1964, they’ll tell you panic, destruction, disbelief. I…

    Phases of erasure

    My first experiment with writing erasure poetry happened last October at the NorthWords altered pages workshop I wrote about here. Jess from Terrace Public Library handed…

    view of field

    Reading room

    It’s long past time to write a new post. I’ve been immersed in writing other things. And reading reading reading. I hit a bonanza recently outside…