Au Saint-Jeanne D'arc, Saguenay, Lac St. Jean. Québec. Au bout du rang du monde.

 

Poor old Gert she couldn't last it through (watts pastiche)

 You're not that

most people nowadays say 'I have no time'

now, the present is the only real time. there is no past, and there isn't a future

and there never will be...

We do a terrible thing, we imagine ourselves to be results of our past

we're always passing the buck

the wake doesn't drive the ship as much as the tail doesn't wag the dog

it all begins...here

 a certain image of god is dead, outworn, after all an idol

images made of imagination, made of concepts

life is no more than a trip from the maternity ward to the crematorium

you can't conceive reality

stop thinking temporarily

7.6 billion people, and rising

 

 

 

 

 

collecting moments                                                        

all my life                                                                       

connecting life                                                                

with all my moments                                                    

morning moves me                                                         

moving mellow

humid clouds sweep slow

thick with hubris

serious dew

laurentian summer

hidden away

in the north

a paradise of green

arboreal dreams 

pining for pine

and birch

linden and poplar

maple and cedar

blueberry bushes

my dog

 

hazy sun

lighting strangely

fires burning

far away

Earth slows down

just for a few minutes

as the mist touches my eyes

collecting in the corners

so quiet

so peaceful

vast forests

proud fog

 

creeping slowly

marching through the branches

sunrise pushing them along

gently

the only human

on this tiny patch of Earth

admiring the erratics

listening to them

they tell me stories

i tell them mine

they listen

and remember me