Dishing through the snow

Happy holidays!

My interest in birds

...goes way back.



Here's me and the chicken hanging out with the dog and a calf.



And I've always been a close observer of wildlife.


Small wonder I'm a nature poet.

Insults, put-downs and curses

... from around the world. No doubt that book will find its way under many a Christmas tree.

I mentioned in a previous post that I begin my days by reading poems. That's not quite true. First, as I realized when I was over at Languagehat, I make quick visits to my favourite online haunts, one of which is GoodReports. Needless to say, I was delighted to see my name in the Readings at GoodReports this morning. What a boost! One of those poems will be included in my forthcoming collection and the other two are part of a new manuscript, a manuscript which has grown considerably over the past six months.

That reminds me. I should check the car for stray notes. On road trips I have a silly habit of writing lines that pop into my head on whatever paper is at hand rather than digging a notebook out of my bag. Sales slips, maps, business cards. I'll have to go through everything.

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Here's a cartoon that really speaks to me. Mind you, in my case anything on the sign would do the trick. A stick man. A bird. Something shiny.

Momentum

...is something Chris Banks mentions near the end of this interview over at Northern Poetry Review. That is, the momentum he gains from talking with friends about other poets and new discoveries. I hadn't thought about community in quite that way, but I think Banks really nails it with that word.

Lists are big

...this time of year. That Shakespeherian Rag is running a series this week titled Favourite Books of 2007, and it kicks off with my favourite reads of the year. I look forward to seeing the rest.

Small Song for a White-tailed Jackrabbit

It was snowing softly

...when I read this thoughtful post on blogging vs. journaling over on Lemon Hound, but it's really coming down now. We got back from The Orange Toad a short while ago. There we had an apple spice pecan muffin and the brew of the day, Irish cream. As we lingered over a refill, we discussed some of the things in Lemon Hound's post. The bit about creating worlds really hits home today. Sometimes a virtual world has a crust, discontinuities, but when one digs down there simply is no mantle, no core. Disappointing, yes, but I like to think such discoveries can lead to new worlds. To a more concerted effort at creating the depths, figuring out the tectonic plates, the shifts, the resulting topography.


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Blog encounters of the best kind:

A great quote.

"Freaky deaky" matching rhyme schematics. I really hope I don't start saying freaky deaky all the time, but it's sure fun to say.

A world so beautifully made.


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Finally, here's a world


out in the cold.

It was cold yesterday

...but we bundled up and drove down the Hanson Lake Road to the Sturgeon Weir River. A trapper had phoned us on Friday night to let us know about a pair of ducks on the remaining open water. Sure enough, two Common Goldeneye were bobbing on the fast water, preening away and looking unconcerned even though they were the only two ducks there. We looked around for the otter he'd mentioned, but it was nowhere to be seen. Otters are a treat to watch, especially in the snow.

On the way back to town we stopped at Annabel Creek. I photographed culverts until I was cold and wet from squatting in the snow. I'd neglected to wear ski pants. It took forever to warm up, but there's something wonderful about getting back in a warm car and shivering as you sip on hot chocolate. I love winter. I'll upload the pics once blogger has resolved the uploading issues. There is a work-around fix, but changing the code is too time consuming.

UPDATE: The culvert pics are up.

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I finished reading Shut Up He Explained the other night. I learned a great deal from those pages. Now I'm itching to read other literary memoirs. Any suggestions?

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When I was procrastinating one afternoon last week, I visited Languagehat and learned of Merriam-Webster's Visual Dictionary Online. An hour later, there I was deep in the structure of the earth, listening to the audio pronunciation of Mohorovicic discontinuity over and over, saying it myself each time, and wondering how I could possibly make such a mouthful work in a poem.

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Blog encounters of the best kind:

How the reading and writing of poetry can serve fiction writers.

The recording of Robert Bringhurst's reading last week.

The CBC puppet controversy.

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It's -20 right now. Snowing lightly. The cat is sleeping nearby, groaning every time I make too much noise. And I am noisy. I laugh when I read. I groan. I talk back. When I write I always read my work aloud. Then I revise it and read it again. The poor cat never gets any peace.