Moon from Balcony

Even though I’ve had my little camera for a couple of years, we’re still getting used to one another. Taken in mid-May of this year from my balcony, I tried to capture the full moon. I think I missed getting the setting right for a night sky picture, but I liked how it captured the peacock chair unraveling a little against the backdrop of the moon.

Vanier Park

Earlier this week, I had the good fortune to attend a matinee performance of The Tempest on the Main Stage of Bard on the Beach. My friend Maggie was given two tickets, and she asked me if I wanted to go. Of course I said yes! Walking to Vanier Park, the greyness of the day had a slight, negative impact on my mood after all of our sunshine the previous few days. That didn’t last for long.

Upon entering the theatre, I was enchanted. With False Creek as the backdrop, the scenic design was configured to allow the story to unfold as though within a giant seashell. I thought Ariel would actually fly like I had pictured in my mind. But Jennifer Lines (Ariel) didn’t need to float around in the air – never once throughout play did it occur to me that she was not a sprite or magical creature of some kind. In fact, all the principals – Allan Morgan (Prospero), Lili Beaudoin (Miranda, his daughter), Scott Bellis (Alonso, King of Naples), Daniel Doheny (Ferdinand, king’s son) and Todd Thomson (Caliban) – were excellent. There were no weak links in the supporting cast either.

The Tempest is one of my favourite plays by Shakespeare. The set, the music, the actors, cast their spell on me. I was very impressed by this production. Both Maggie and I enjoyed our afternoon with the Bard.

Bard on the Beach Mainstage

In the dark of the night
when others sleep,

I prowl–

driven from the safety
of my lair by apparitions
of regrets–

the streets of a strange city,

feeling no fear;
only seeking something
I lost in some other place.

I have gone
and then come back
to claim…

You have gone
and then come back;
without falsehood,
but without telling

me
some secrets

I need to know
to find

true north.

Gordon Wood School

Earlier today I took the bus to Broadway and MacDonald to do errands. On the way back, because it was such a beautiful, sunny day,  I randomly got off the bus and walked around. I ended up at MacDonald and West 7th Ave. This part of the street dead-ends into a park behind General Gordon Elementary School. Walking down the street toward the fence, I could only see a park bench. I decided to sit for a bit and read; it wasn’t until I entered the grassy area that I discovered the one room schoolhouse.

I don’t know what it is , but there’s something about abandoned buildings that inspires me; I ditched the book and did some journal writing instead. When I got home, a Google search turned up some interesting facts about this old wood school:

  • the schoolhouse was built in 1913-1914
  • at one time, the Vancouver School Board (VSB) originally planned to retain and restore the old wood schoolhouse
  • since then, there has been talk that the VSB has slated it for demolition
  • various public groups, including Heritage Vancouver, have petitioned to save it

Blissfully unaware of its unknown future, I enjoyed journaling out in the fresh air, in its charming presence.

Already, I have doubts
strutting like patent
black crows
on the lawns of my
last reasons.

Already time is like nothing;
like a breath;
like a tear
banished by fingertips.
Already, there are no
boundaries;
no places for me
to hide.

The sun,
when it shines,
blinds my eyes;
but does not melt my heart.

This is the stage
where I made
entrances before;
this is the theatre
in which you yelled
“Fire!”

Past mistakes
past lives
past tenses

all come back to haunt me,

every time
we touch.

He often wondered why he was here; what possible mission could the higher sentient powers have in mind for him when they sent him among the humans. He hadn’t needed to leave his homeland to report back that humankind, either as a species or a philosophy, was unsavable; unstoppable in its obvious quest for self-destruction. He would be somewhere – sitting at one of the carrels in the public library near where the 900s began; or in a bistro coffee shop pretending to be still employed; or parked on a couch in the lobby of a random office building, acting as if he was waiting for someone – seeing only the familiar landscapes of Hecadia, nestled within its signature sylvan gaseous stratosphere. Then he would blink. And be banished earthbound once again.

So that I will not disturb you
while you sleep
someplace else,
I could not sleep
for remembering.

I send you telepathic messages;
I talk softly to myself
so no one can hear.
Dialogues
misplaced like pocket change.

Tears in your eyes
give me hope.
I am returned from Bedlam.

But by three,
the day is ironed flat.
Brain numb from folding laundry.
I promise myself strawberries.

Mirrors are my enemies
where memories of your face
overwrite images of my own.

I sit
in the early morning light,

and pretend we never met.

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