So the collection of birds grows. It is a practice, perhaps a contemplative practice, that found me at 10 years old. I had to create a project for school with coloured pencil drawings and original research. I chose birds of Ontario. I had just moved back to Canada after 5 years in Scotland. The woman across the street helped me. I do not remember how I met her but I recall her name: Mrs. Beaton. This photo of one of my favourite birds, the pink one in my collection, is a shout out to her, thank you, you helped me form a lifelong practice.
After decades of languishing in the landscape version of shabby chic, the lands of UBC seemed to come alive with construction around 2010. It was my habit to explore, in the summers I studied there in residence at various places over the years. Among many, I mention now three treasures I came across as surprises in the fields behind the square-like has-been properties of various departmental buildings from the 60’s and 70’s according to the greened mosaics and metal sculptures in neglected pools.
Behind the Museum of Anthropology with ancient poles and pitted gravel back yard, I found sculpture from another era. It was a heavy imposing metal structure built on the bluff for a canon, of all things. This was proof to me that we did have to watch our coast in WWII. After my reverie I moved on to come across a wood and fabric-built structure of much greater proportions. I mused that it was the beginnings of a tented stage for a coming summer concert. Finally, as I walked in the overgrown grassy field toward Green College a distant site enlivened my eyes and my pace. Flowers of every colour amazed an acreage of landscape. I had seen wildflower meadows in film but they were surpassed by the vibrance and variety of this one, so overwhelming in person. My breath halted and a prayer escaped. A couple of years later the wildflower meadow was no more.
In the third year of the pandemic now, after online courses, I braved my way out to attend a round table discussion on gender and spirituality with profs Lynn Cohick and Wesley Hill at Regent College, Room 100, the small lecture hall. I would kill several birds with one stone. (Parking was easier than I thought, but expensive.) First, of course, was the Anton Dolfo-Smith exhibition at the Dal Schindell Gallery upstairs. The sentiment on dementia, the high key colours, and the patterned circle and square shapes, did not disappoint. Bookstore beeswax candles and professors’ books purchased, I had left time for coffee before the event but The Well Café had closed during the pandemic, the sign said. Across the street and behind was a Starbucks. I sat on the wet outdoor metal chair and consumed with the pleasure of being there.
Almost late now, I rushed back to hear the discussion. In my right peripheral vision was a literal profusion of flowers mixed with weeds on the median, the verges and also the boulevards, I later discovered. The scruffiness in all of its beauty, was back. UBC’s lack of pandemic maintenance and the forethought of a wildflower seeder had beautified again the too-manicured UBC lands. The colours fill my mind’s eyes this morning with their deep pinks, oranges and violets. In the midst of trauma, beauty emerges to heal, again. In my hurry and amazement, no photo was taken, or needed.
“Heart of Flowers, Ambleside Pier” Artist unknown, photo by DS
Here are my explorations:
Clarke, Susanna. Piranesi. 2020.
946 words
*** The Ninth Vestibule is remarkable for the three great Staircases I contains. Its walls are lined with marble Statues, hundreds and hundreds of them, Tier upon Tier, rising into the distant heights. *** [I] felt the walls vibrating with the force of what was about to happen. *** First came the Tides from the Far Eastern Halls. *** Its waters were no more than ankle deep. *** I realized I had made a mistake in calculating the volumes . . . *** Then just as suddenly as it began, it was over. *** The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite. *** I am determined to explore as much of the World as I can in my lifetime. *** I have explored the Drowned Halls where the Dark Waters are carpeted with white water lilies. I have seen the Derelict Halls of the East where Ceiling, Floors – sometimes even Walls! – have collapsed and the dimness is split by shafts of grey Light. *** I have never seen any indication that the World is coming to an end . . . *** I have begun a Catalogue in which I intend to record the Position, Size and Subject of each Statue, and any other points of interest. *** The Windows of the House look out upon Great Courtyards; barren, empty places paved with stone. *** Outside the House there are only the Celestial Objects: Sun, Moon, and Stars. *** The Upper Halls are . . . the domain of the Clouds . . . *** The Lower Halls provide nourishment in the form of fish, crustaceans and sea vegetation. *** The Upper Halls have fresh water , which is shed in the Vestibules in the form of Rain and flows in Streams down Walls and Staircases. *** Between these two (largely uninhabitable) Levels are the Middle Halls, which are the Domain of birds and of men. *** The Beautiful Orderliness of the House is what gives us Life. *** On the other side of the Courtyard I saw the Other looking out of the Window. *** I waved to him. *** Of the fifteen people whose existence is verifiable, only Myself and the Other are now living. *** I am between thirty and thirty-five years of age . . . the Other’s age . . . between fifty and sixty. *** He is a scientist like me . . . I value his friendship highly. *** The Other believes there is a Great and Secret Knowledge hidden somewhere in the World that will grant enormous powers once we have discovered it . . . *** I write down what I observe in my notebooks. *** One of my notebooks is my Table of Tides. *** There are some Statues that I love more than the rest. The Woman carrying a Beehive is one of them. *** I have noticed something. I have used two systems to number the years. How could I not have noticed this before? *** I am guilty of bad practice. *** Is it disrespectful to the House to love some Statues more than others? *** It is my belief that the House itself loves and blesses equally everything that it has created. *** It is the nature of men to prefer one thing to another . . . *** Do trees exist . . . Many things are unknown . . . a leaf, very beautiful, with two sides curving to a point at each end . . . its surface repelled Water, like something meant to live in Air. *** You need to find out if I am telling the truth. *** “That is exactly what I am doing.” We both laughed. *** There is no danger. *** I went to the Eighth Vestibule to fish. *** The Other suspended his work on the Great and Secret Knowledge and cancelled our meetings because he said it was too cold to stand about talking. *** I saw a vision! In the dim Air above the grey Waves hung a white, shining cross. *** I returned to my work of gathering seaweed. The albatross walked about the Hall. His greyish pinkish feet made loud slapping sounds on the Pavement. *** Perhaps the wisdom of birds resides not in the individual, but in the flock, the congregation. *** If we perform the Ritual at night, you can address the Invocation to a Star. A star is a source of power and energy. *** About a year ago. My shoes fell apart. *** A list of things the Other has given me *** The Other explains that he has said all this before *** The Other warns me about 16 *** I consider the words of the Prophet *** More people to kill *** Violet had been the dominant note, with hints of cloves, blackcurrent and rose. *** No one has ever written to me before. *** The Ancients have a different way of relating to the world, that they experienced it as something that interacted with them. *** The lights of the cars were pixilated by rain; the pavements collaged with wet black leaves. *** I explained that I was chiefly interested in transgressive ideas, in the people who formulate them, and how they are received by the various disciplines – religion, art, literature, science, mathematics and so forth. *** He began to laugh. *** I could see now that he was apprehensive in case one day I remembered. *** This is where I lost Myself. *** These imaginings left me ravaged. *** She tapped her shining little device. *** What is the Other World like? *** It’s such an astonishing place. ***
Ferguson, Jen. The Summer of Bitter and Sweet. 2022
993 words
*** This book is about an ice-cream shack, yes, but it’s also about real traumas teens face. *** Indigenous and Black teens *** Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirit people *** If you’re not ready that’s okay *** find healing in Lou’s story *** RED: Winter isn’t colorless . . . impossible buds on trees *** We’re a sight. Three pickup trucks traveling down the highway, each with one of the Creamery’s picnic tables overhanging the tailgate. And me, in the lead . . . my best friend Florence laughing . . . we’re tough enough. *** We’re giggling over the song lyrics *** No one asks where Wyatt, my boyfriend, is this morning. *** Florence wipes paint from my face carefully. *** Survival is always in the back of our minds. *** We kissed forty-six times. *** You don’t have to like giving BJs for you to … just pretend. *** Sometimes, life gets super clear. *** These days I hate lying to my family. *** Mom walks toward the fridge, but she stops to run her hand through my hair. *** A crow in one of the trees caws down at us. *** Like he didn’t call me his Native girlfriend . . . Why do you have to point out he’s Black? *** Wyatt, he shrugs. *** Why can’t he just be a man of mystery? *** It doesn’t bother me, King says staring at me, Black isn’t a bad word, Lou. *** Our customers, mostly teens, begin to dance. *** Calgary has a grad program I like though. *** It was always easier talking to people like this man when I was pretending to be white. *** ORANGE: The least popular flavor of ice cream, but one of the most popular sorbets. *** Today I unbraid my hair to wash it. *** I’m going to have to learn to swim in these new waters. *** It’s for the best, her being gone. *** Blue ink bleeds across the page like a wound. *** YELLOW: Dandelion wine or golden currant . . . All life exists on a spectrum, after all. *** Keesha kee taen *** I’m pushing to free myself of the mess *** He’s not himself, swimming in rough waters – in shock. *** By the time the tear at my hairline is stitched, I am all woozy. King helps me *** Sweat gathers on my upper lip. *** But secrets can burn down friendships too. *** What was he driving, do you remember? *** I can’t stop thinking about the fire and what will happen when he learns I caused him that pain too. *** GREEN: typically oregano. It’s spicy, for people who like things both hot and cold. *** We own a lot of people a lot of money. *** A firefly picks up outside. We watch it buzz and glow *** This part of me works but every time I try to imagine doing it with someone – with King – I tense up. *** Her long red hair is in a high ponytail *** BLUE: usually wild blueberries. It’s rarity that makes true blues special. *** It’s quiet in this house. My mom’s off-key singing to pop songs is missing. *** Today’s tee is bubble-gum pink and says, There is no Planet B. *** Lou, look. I asked you out and you basically ran. I get it. *** In this town I’m too Black – hell, on the prairies I’m too Black – but in my ma’s hood, at Westview in my classes, in my friends’ eyes, I’m not always Black enough. *** When I moved to Toronto, I had to learn to live in a place that is not all white space. *** BLUE: Borage flowers and honey make a delicious sorbet. *** Dear Daughter, Eighteen years of patience is something you cannot fully understand. I am not a patient man any longer – not after my time in the cage. *** The choice is yours – be my fierce warrior girl. *** When I make it back to the barn, to read the letter again, to memorize it, maybe do exactly what Florence suggested and burn it – the letter is gone. *** INDIGO: Saskatoon berries should be on every commercial ice-cream company’s rotation. To start a Michif/Metis Indigo, first you’ll make a classic jam . . . so it forms ribbons of flavor. As always, trust yourself. Try things. See what works. *** The tornado has me all out of sorts. *** She was drunk, Lou. *** He’s teaching me Toronto slang. I’m teaching him Dublin slang. *** Ty, I tried the tough-Native-chick thing with you for almost a year. It didn’t fit. *** The flies would prefer to land on or warm bodies, their little legs tickling us. Off in the trees, a crow watches us with interest. *** I take a break to scroll my mom’s Instagram. *** Text her. *** I’m more worried about you than if it was a bougie art museum like MOMA. *** Intrusive thoughts *** VIOLET: Fresh chokecherries are poisonous. Use this newfound power at your discretion. *** My mind stalls here, betraying me. *** We’re moving slowly, like goldfish in a tiny tank. *** I tongue the roof of my mouth and even that small pain doesn’t hurt as much as it feels exactly like living. *** VIOLET: At the far spectrum of the rainbow, we expect the most saturation. If you’re violet, you’re a violet. *** I turn my phone off. Something I never do. *** Clothing, deodorant, a few books, the braid of sweetgrass I was gifted at graduation, and with my bag hung over my shoulder, and my tent tucked under my other arm, I leave this house. *** Canola is in the air. *** Hand to G-O-D, he nods, then whispers, one day, Lou, I want you to read all my stories. *** She’s outside my tent. *** THE YELLOWS: Like a good dandelion wine, friends are sunshine. ***
ShellseekerReflections 