Holding onto Poplar Bluff

Marian, this morning at Poplar Bluff






Brenna


At Poplar Bluff light falls into my eyes and they are full. In August I have watched the setting sun angle across lush grass and thought there could be nothing more beautiful than that glow. But it is rivalled by the silver lustre of March sun across shattered ice packs on the nearby Lake Erie shore.

Mom confided recently that my eldest brother told them they should sell the house and simplify their lives. He didn't grow up there like I did. I understand their endless infatuation with the place. I hope they stay fit enough for many years to keep up with the yard work. I don't see it straining them yet. Why shouldn't they continue working as long as possible at something that makes them happy?

I am a creative person. Work, rest and play blend together. Writing is not much different from looking after a couple acres of lawn and garden the way my parents do.

I have seen accomplished writers retire from their craft. They reach the end of struggling and realize they don't have to anymore.

Maybe the same will happen to me someday. For now I can't imagine ever wanting to stop this expression.

Lake Erie ice

Lake Erie, Wednesday at noon


When I was little, Lake Erie always froze quickly, providing miles of smooth ice early in the season. By late January it always became heaved and pockmarked. But before that we would have several weeks of good skating.

My brothers, cousins and neighbours played hockey. I would join in to feel a part of things, not that I enjoyed it. I would rather skate freely. Without much skill I could build up considerable speed, like a bird darting across expanses. The good ice roared under my blades, sinking into dark, blue-green depths.

In later winter, storms would pile mountains of fractured ice along the shore.

I returned home yesterday with my first cold of the winter: congestion barely muted by Advil. The girls and I are spending a couple quiet days. Hopefully rest will clear it up.

But last night was strangely uneasy. Oozing sinuses woke me at 5 a.m. and I lay a while in a fretful daze, finally rising for a shower. That brought some physical and mental relief. I drifted in and out of dreams: an iridescent triceratops looming on the horizon; wrestling naked with a friend; my dead grandmother reading a newspaper under a carnival tent.

(More images posted in texture: here and here.)

( Constrasting image )