60. I Love ... Willows

Especially the weeping ones

that bend over a river.

They are mysterious and

as if they are hiding something
or protecting
something.

They are enhanted.

Enchanting.

They are grand and huge and ancient.

They cast immense shade 

that gives refuge

from the heat

to a host of creatures.

Shelter for the spirit.

Willows say

'Summer'

to me.

They say picnics.

They say 'Sit by the river.'
Quietly.
Restfully.

When we moved to the farm there was 

something 

in the field that barely stood taller than the grass.

Brian cut around it

and we watched it grow

into a tree.

For many years I wrapped it in plastic guards,

painted it with tar trying to save it

from the ravage of the donkeys.
It has grown inspite of them.

It's huge now,

happy that we gave it a pond.

Happy to shelter our

grandbabes.

It's not weeping
It's
will-ing.

59. I Love ... the smell of poplar leaves rotting

It's starts just a touch before autumn.

They are the first leaf that comes down here.

They want to rush the summer 

out the door.

Before I am ready;

before I even have time to consider that 

autumn is approaching,

I catch a fleeting whiff.

An earthy musk with a touch of spice.

It hits me unsuspectingly.

It stops me in my tracks.

Stops me
 to breathe it in

deeply.

I stop
 even if I'm rushing.

Rot
is too ugly a word.

Evolve.

Back to the Earth.

58. l Love ... watching my husband work when he loves what he's doing.

I love the way he attacks a mission

with such focus.

Such intensity.

I love to see that

drive and passion.

I love it when he has something

that excites him,

that he is please to tackle.

He walks with such purpose.

A lively step.

A young step.

He doesn't waver from the task 

at hand.

He'll get up at the break of day.

He'll work long into the night.

He will ignore 

any and all distractions.

Including eating.

He will accomplish a great deal.

Perhaps something that is only important

to him,

but he feels good about it.

I love to see him 

proud

of what he has done.

I love that look on his face

that makes him seem

like a

little boy.

57. I Love ... when an new idea comes to me.

"I love to see you with a mission."

my husband said to me one day,

"You walk with a spring in your step."

I do.

I have a spring in my

heart

as well.

I get downright

jubulant,

considering

all kinds of possibilities.

I have no space,

no time,

to carry

unnecessary

burdens.

They are instantly

replaced with

visions and plans

to create

something.

56. I Love ... a fragrance in Newfoundland that I cannot name

The first time I smelled it
I stopped dead in my tracks.

The first thing that came to me is
'this is what Heaven smells like'.

It was totally heavenly;
beyond description.

I couldn't find a way to describe it.

It came in wafts.
It was not constant.
It came gentle upon the breeze.

I sniffed at all the plants
like an old hound.

It was so fleeting.
I was desperate to get it back
so I'd know that it wasn't
a fragment of my imagination.

I asked 80 year old Harvey,
whose land I had been walking on.
'What is that smell up there?'
'Can't say.'
he replied.

'Can't say.'
because he doesn't know
or it's too big of a
secret?

55. I Love ... a Dog at My Feet

Especially

when they lay their head

on your foot

or lean their whole body

up against your leg,

being ever-so 

non-challant

but saying -

"Don't think you're going to

sneak way 

without me.

I'll notice."

Head between the paws;

so patient.

On guard.

A noise and it's

head's up!

Vigilant.

Oh - it's nothing - 

back down

with a thump

and a groan.

My friend,

my loyal,

patient friend;

it's so good,

so good

to have you.

54. I Love ... being lulled to sleep by my husband's voice.

I don't sleep well

sometimes.

Sometimes 

it takes me hours to fall asleep.

Sometimes

sleep never comes all night.

And so to me those

rare moments

when I can actually

feel myself

slipping

between the two worlds;

drifting off

ever so gently

is a gift.

I am usually just

awake

then asleep.

Or not.

My favourite transition

is to hear Brian's voice -

talking, telling me something

that he probably thinks is important

but I think is lulling.

That itself is rare

considering ninety-nine percent of the time

he is fast asleep for hours

before I make my way to bed.

53. I Love ... the Golden Hour

I Love the

gentleness

of the sun

as it bids

farewell

to another day.

Golden.

That is the perfect 

name for it.

Precious.

The intensity of the day,

set aside;

the darkness of the night

has not yet arrived.

For the briefest of time there is a 

perfect light

cast over the world.

Shadows are softer;

birdsong is softer.

There is a

 stillness

in the transition.

A calmness,

a beauty.

It is a gentle light,

our Golden Hour.

52. I Love ...Cursive Writing

There is something,

at times,

meditative about it.

Flowing. 

Easy.

Letters joined;

words running from one to another,

effortlessly.

A fine hand can be an art.

At the very least,

it is a personality.

I can pick up something

and immediately 

identify the writer

by the handwriting.

That is something that is going to be lost.

And what a sad loss that will be.

All we will have is the printed word;

harsh, blocky letters.

Press PRINT.

Impersonal.

Not the paper ...

the choice of which itself is signature;

paper where someone's hand

has run over it,

line after line,

letter by letter,

putting their essence and spirit

on to that page

through

the pen.

51. I Love ... A Clean House

The process of getting it there,

not so much.

But the result,

yes I do -

I LOVE

when things

sparkle.

When everything is

in its place.

I love the smell

of clean.

I love walking into a

freshly cleaned room

and feeling 

such a sense of

accomplishment.

I love the fact that

I am done.

That niggling tasks

are not poking

at my eyeballs;

prodding 

at my conscience;

are not

haranguing me:

"You can't sit down!

You have work to do!!

Get up!

GET UP!!

No rest for you!!!!"

50. I Love ... Getting Letters

Getting a letter;

what a rare occasion that is

and getting rarer.

I have boxes of letters 

from the past.

Way back to when I was

twelve years old 

and I started every single letter with

"How are you. I am fine."

I treasure my letters,

thinking of the writer's hand on the paper,

their thoughts on me.

I have a letter from my grandmother.

One.

I recognized her writing immediately

when I came across the 45 year old envelope.

I hadn't remembered it and was excited

to see what she had written to me;

a little piece of our relationship, preserved.

The entire letter -

a single line:

"Where is your mother? I can't get a hold of her."

Even that tells you something.

The day after we got engaged

Brian went away for the week.

I had been so excited to get a letter from him;

touched that he had been thinking of me,

pleased that he took the time,

delighted to have something

eloquent and romantic

as a keepsake.

Here it is, forty years later

 and I can recite the entire letter,

word for word:

"Having fun at the beach."

Some letters are so memorable
and touch your heart
forever.

49. I Love ... Writing Letters

I still do it.

In spite of

the convenience and ease of email -

ease-mail.

I love to write

Real Letters.

By hand.

Paper and pen.

Slowly.

Not just zipping off

a quick note 

and pressing

SEND.

I sit quietly, 

pretending

that I am talking

directly to that person.

But it's getting difficult

to find people

to write to.

I am in such constant contact

with all my friends,

through email and Facebook,

there is nothing left to say.

The three people I write to

are all in their late nineties.

Perhaps that's why

I have my journal -

'Letters to Dead People'.

I write to people that I can't

reach by email.

Even people I have 

never met

but have something to say to them.

Letters that never get sent.

48. I Love .... Baby Raccoons

I can still smell the watery milk 

from the bottle

when I fed 'Tiny'-

the smell of wet fur

around his little mouth,

bony little hands 

kneading the botte.

I was 5 years old.

I suppose he was the very first thing

that I got to 

nurture;

very first

living, breathing,

baby something.

There are people 

who declare raccoons

to be

dirty, destructive.

I know people

who's very first reaction

is to kill them.

I think they are 

intelligent, curious, entertaining,

filled with character.

And so, SO cute -

those little masked bandits.

47. I Love ...Birch Trees.

And that is why

I planted them on

August 25th, 1991;

the first birthday

for my Dad

that I could not spend

with him.

I love

the white trunks,

especially when they are 

lit

with floodlights.

I love the way the 

'paper'

curls off.

It makes me think of my

childhood;

writing messages;

the smooth, pristine side

of the bark.

I love the leaves;

how they turn a

beautiful yellow

in early autumn.

I love my four birch trees,

lit by the yard light.

They are the 

first thing I see every morning;

the last thing I see every night.

Peace.

Home.

Beauty.

Remembrances.

My Dad.

46. I Love ... Love

Real love.

Quiet love.

Comfortable,

comforting,

Simple Love.

Love is a verb

in my world.

It's an action.

An enwrapping

of one's soul

onto

whoever,

whatever

brings them 

joy and passion.

I can tell

people who

Love

Much.

They don't have time

to grouse & grumble

and whine & complain

and judge.

They're too busy

Loving.

We all have our moments

when the thorns of Life

irritate or stab us.

We naturally react

with all the emotions 

that are our human

blessing.

We have to.

We'd be dead if we didn't.

But,

when all is said and done,

and the heavy emotions

settle,

and when

LOVE

is allowed to once again

rise to the top,

that is what I 

Love.

45. I Love ... the back porch steps

I expect that of all the places

that I have spent time -
whiled away the hours
or 'produced';
the place that has seen the
most activity
or
inactivity,
is our back porch steps.

Sometimes I just sit here
and look -
survey -
the donkeys,
the brook,
the shop,
the barn,
the birds.

It's where I watch the day slip away.

I have used it more than I have used my studio.
Stuff spread out all around me
in the busiest, highest traffic area.

Bizarre.

People having to step gingerally over and through and around
my mess.
Carving, painting, sculpting.

It works for me.
I can watch the sun.
And my donkeys.

It's kinda strange
that I sit there
when I have so many
chairs.

44. I Love ...red geraniums

They spell

COUNTRY

to me.

They spell

the best days of summer

before August

starts to brown the edges.

Geraniums belong in a pot;

perferrably a clay one;

or in a 

window box

or a 

wagon ...

something with wheels.

They do not belong

in a flowerbed.

They cry

for a little nest
to make them
look pretty.

43. I Love .... listening to anything my grandbabes have to say.

I hate to admit it

but

I listen differently to my

grandchildren than I did my own children.

Even though,

I knew full well 

that their childhood would be

fleeting,

that they would change 

in a blink of an eye

and

I hung on as tightly

as I could;

I know that I did not

listen

closely enough
to my children.

There seemed to be

so little time

in the chaos

of getting through the day.

My grandbabes now,

one on one,

when we walk

or just sit and talk -

I listen

so closely

with all of my attention,

with all of my heart.

I listen to their sweet little voices,

their big thoughts

and I marvel

at how 

complex,

how deep,

how interesting,

how miraculous

it all is.

And how fast
their childhoods will
slip
through my fingers too.

42. I Love ... lamplight in a window.

I am drawn to it

like a moth to a candle.

It makes me slow down

and want to peer in.

It makes me want to

go in

and sit down

and ask them what

quiet task they are about.

It is a gentle soul

that abides by the

soft, golden glow of lamplight.

A soul that would not mind

if I came in and sat quietly

with them for a bit.

I am drawn to them,

to what is in that lamplit room.

Surely

it is 

peaceful and quiet,

gentle and deep.

Surely

it is welcoming.

41. I Love ... having energy

Something that I totally

took for granted

in my younger years.

I don't recall

ever feeling like I was

too tired

to do anything.

I think now,

perhaps,

there are times

when I'd just as soon

sit.

I much prefer

the feeling of

wanting

to move;

to feel like

jumping up

and accomplishing something.

I like feeling

light and agile

not 

cumbersome and old.

I love

feeling

vibrant,

motivated,

alive.

40. I Love ... people with 'squints' in their eyes

My Dad's were the first

squints

that I noticed.

I was probably about five years old

when I asked him

"What are those?"

"What" he said.

"Those SQUINTS - those lines that are going into your eyes."

He laughed.

And the squints got deeper.

And he told the story over and over

and laughed every time.

I started to notice

that happy people

had the most squints.

That people who

smiled

with their eyes

were fun

and kind.

I sometimes

still see my Dad

in the squints

 of other people's eyes.

Laughing eyes.

Kind eyes.

39. I Love ... familiar voice

can you imagine

not hearing the voice of someone you

love

for the longest time;

and then

you do.

Can you imagine the 

flip

your heart does?

I sometimes don't 

listen

to the words

of people I love.

I listen to the 

voice;

the sound.

It is 

THEM;

uniquely them.

A voice

 silenced

leaves a void

never to be filled.

The echo of it

stays with us

for a time;

growing fainter and fainter;

but still there

ever

so 

quiet.

38. I Love ... when all my children are happy.

They say that you are only as happy as 

your saddest child.

No truer words have ever been spoken.

When one of my children,

even though they are no longer

children,

are hurting,

disappointed,

worried ...

I am all of those things

as well.

I am of my children -

of all their emotions.

I don't know if that's right,

but it is the way

I am.

It is who

I am.

I carry them,

each and every one,

in my heart so wholely

that I cannot separate their emotions

from mine.

If one is hurting,

my heart is tied in a knot.

The happy ones may dance around it

but the knot is still there.

I love

when my all of children are

Happy.

37. I Love .. Sea Glass

Glass that has been 

caressed

by the sea.

Rough and pitted.

Clouded.

Worn.

The edges softened by the journey.

A tiny little treasure 

that has lived 

somewhere

before it arrives where it is

discovered.

A Mermaid tear.

The tiniest wee droplet.

Minute.

Missed by most eyes.

Often passed over as

insignificant;

not worthy stooping for

by most standards.

Worthy for me actually

of a separate

LOVE.

Of course,

I especially am delighted 

to discover

blue glass.

I suppose everyone is.

Tourquois blue ...

now that is even a greater treasure.

But even white

is beautiful to me;

as much for the 

feel

as for the sight.

A big jar of

fragments from the sea.

Beautious.

36. I Love ... My Donkeys

Oh my -

I do SO love my donkeys.

They were like potato chips,

there was no way

I could have just one.

June 1981 -

I still have the letter.

Donkey memories -

Donkey Otie having a beer on the patio,

my mother-in-law being shocked

to see me bringing him out the front door

of our brand new house as she drove by.

My very first baby - Annie -

almost hyperventilating as I dragged my

Dad down to the barn to see her.

Nugget - 

my dearly missed Nugget;

and Ransom  - my sweet Handsome Ransom -

big old head, 

heavy head

plunked down on my shoulder

while I rub those gigantic ears

and look into those

deep and soulful eyes.

All my babies - 

such joy - such entertainment.

Watching them kick

and run full out in circles -

or hop with all four feet together

like a prancing goat -

springing with their noses up in the air.

I cannot imagine

this farm,

this life

without my beloved

long earred friends.

35. I Love ... picking up a book that I've written in many years ago.

I love reading it.

I don't technicallylove the fact that all that "time" is being held in my hands;

that it's contained between two covers;
that has gone too quickly.
Ridiculously quickly.

I suppose it's better than not being able to hold it at all.

It slips through our fingers.

Gone.
Just like that.

I picked up a book that I had written sporadically in

way back in 1970.

I wish I had written more.

Sometimes I surprise myself with my writing.

Literally.

I am surprised that I have captured my thoughts

fairly effectively.

I am surprised how words on a page

will bring the day back so clearly;

how I can revisit it completely.

Good or bad.

34. I Love ... taking my camera for a drive through our neighbourhood.

I don't go far,

just the same old places

that I see every day.

But some days,

I am called to see them

with new eyes.

A Crystal Day.

A Golden Day.

A Monochromatic Day

like today.

A day when the snow is thick,

outling every branch on every 

naked tree;

Laying thickly on the evergreens

making

Art

Everywhere.

Fat snow.

Thick ice.

Fall leaves.

Spring buds.

Light

just

right.

So many moments

and possibilities

to 

SEE

the old

with 

new eyes.

33. I Love ... lengthening days

I get downright

tickled

every year.

As if it an entirely 

new concept.

There is not a year goes by

that I don't comment

again

and

again

and 

again:

"Do you notice?

The days are getting 

longer?"

"Did you notice?"

"Did you notice?"

As if 

I was the only one 

that has.

As if

it is a magic act

that is happening

for the first time.

Ever.

As if

I don't acknowledge it

and

give it voice,

it will decide not to do it

again.

One minute,

I'm taking notice.

The next,

they're just there.

7 pm and it's light.

8 pm and it's light.

And it doesn't really matter

anymore.

It is the process of

BECOMING

long,

not 

being 

long
that entertains me.

32. I Love ... salty with sweet

Salt and vinegar chips

with a coke or pepsi.

Pizza with green olives

and a rootbeer.

Salty peanuts

on top of ice cream.

I think I've heard that if you crave

salty and sweet together,

you are missing something.

I don't think you're missing anything at all.

I think you've got it all.