“Sometimes they seem to fly up at me in recrimination and regret, with the juice of bitter herbs upon their lips and the salt of dried tears on their faces. And look I must, for it is anathema to me to look away, I must face each one of them in their own garden and peel away all the layers of their heavy robes. For if I must swim ahead in this pool, and I must, I cannot avoid what is behind me, for the wake of a wave has more destructive power than a peak ever could. What I cannot move with my toe I can surely grind with my heel I tell myself as I lie with the daisies and invent ways to change the mass of all the elements in the universe for it is in my mind to make the lead as light as the lace.” -- Catherine Jamieson

I am reconciling the marks that writing (and not writing) of the past leaves on the present, and that writing (and not writing) of the present leaves on the future.

It makes me reticent. Reserved.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you haven’t wallowed in the literary luxury of one of Catherine Jamieson’s websites yet, you’re in for a delightful time.

xoxoetc
~~~ Kate

+ the sculpture is on the front lawn of a home in Saskatoon