SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
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Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Friday, Dec. 26, 2003 @ 12:02 am
Two Eagles



Hail fell today, sharp ice pellets against my face as I biked through the neighbourhood. Riding around glancing in the windows of the houses I know for a glimpse to make sure they are happy. Knocking on Jen's door and unwrapping presents as the hail melts out of my hair and smears the ink on the card. Noting that Dave's truck is uninsured, the drapes drawn and the lights off.

The holidays, dinners and parties blend together from the sleepy concoction of wine and food and the morning shift.

But the morning today, I snuck down the hall at dawn and Dad was up too. "The tide is high," he says, "Let's go have a look."

The sky is shades of pink and orange, the water laps gently just over the edge of the sea wall. Grebes ride low on the surface and two eagles fly east towards the city. There we stand on the end of the wooden pier squinting into the glorious morning sunshie mesmerized by the liquid rhythm of the eagles' flight.

Try as you might to find metaphors in this all, to figure out what it all means... I don't even know. It's just what happens and all the images and interactions create this world that is so stunningly beautiful and happy.

I'm lucky and happy and I just want you to be the same. I guess it worked a little.


The nickname that stuck.


Roots | Shoots