In Roberts Creek, Eliya and I stand beneath the sky, awed. The wind is so strong it makes swirling waves of towering evergreens. We watch branches flying through the air, hold ourselves up.

Later, a sudden darkness. In the squash courts. I’d given up any pretense of working. Any copy or arrangements for the invitation was stalled. Grind-your-teeth no-news. Those with any bearing on the decision of Where to exhibit images from Torino paintings? were three hours ahead of us in Toronto and Niagara-on-the-Lake, and they had gone home already, so I took my necessary exercise! break. I’d been writing emails at my computer when power, lights, and smoke alarm flashed off and back on just long enough to disconnect everything. Throughout the afternoon.



We’re pathetic without our lights, and the dark is dense in Roberts Creek. The cats just curl up and go to sleep as the huge cedars and Douglas Fir stand together towards the stars, whipping in the gusts and sideways rain. My candles flickered bravely in sharp relief against the black. I sat alone and small wondering why I had decided to fly to Ontario five days after Gord? Suddenly the house seemed big, the woods around me even more mysterious and powerful, and me and Spaffy such insignificant shadows.

I called Donna, and the next thing was, two of us leaning in towards each other over our frothy drinks listening to Eric’s mother, Christina Welscher in a Gibson’s Starbucks. Although Grantham’s was also pitch dark, in the middle we had lights at the mall. Christina’s son, it turns out, is going from the North Pole to the equator on his own power as part of a leadership team. He’s representing Canada, too. Donna seems to be the link, she knows everybody who’s anybody around here.

And later, under glowing lights at the dining room table, holiday red and gold detrius kept us company with the cat whom she calls “Sparky”. Donna and I wrapped and gifts for our families.

Eliya’s going to house sit. Gord and JC got things going ‘on the ground’ at Niagara on the Lake (NOTL) today, and here, Nancy heard from me directly, that she’s our valued treasure. Then, in slumber, I had this dream about my youngest brother, Thomas. We have big issues between us, but we smile towards each other, unsure. We are from the same mother and father, after all, and though there are fourteen of us, neither of us knows whose face will be looking down and whose eyes will be closed first, before this life is up.



Here I am writing him a note:

Dear Tom,

I just realized right this minute
it's your birthday
today right now

And last night
I dreamed about you
the you of my adolescence
the six or seven year old you

Somehow in my dream
this little you and Andrew
had spent the night alone
together
(I blamed myself for neglecting you)
you emerged from your slumber
dressed bravely in a collared shirt and pants
you were both such little guys
and this morning of my dream
you said you were frightened

I took you on my lap
to comfort you
to ask you
what are you afraid of?

And then I woke up
in Donna’s guest room
under her granny’s quilt
embraced by the new day