SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Tuesday, Jan. 27, 2004 @ 12:09 am
Snow Time



The importance of things, priorities in life shift back into place. There I am thinking about the floor and what I have to do to it next, and there in front of me is a bent crumpled mouse. The babies, twelve days old, eyes closed and little tails curled and flicking. They try to suckle off daddy. He grooms them and keeps them warm, but he just cannot be their mother. He picks at the female's tail, "Wake up, wake up."

Too young to wean, they must go to sleep. A clear plastic bag full of limp warm bodies. Daddy's alone in the cage, he wonders where everybody went. Try as you might to separate life from science, it's impossible to forget that every animal has a family and a heartbeat.

The city, the city so quickly wisks me into its rushing momentum. I'm still here; I'm not dead beneath the mask of the city nightlife. It all settles down to a spitting simmer from the rolling boil of the holiday season. The fire beneath me is there, the cold fire from the moon, it ignites the city and me. The kindling is nearly used up and I'm ready for the slow burn of a really thick Vancouver life.


This is what I call a good day off :)

A parking lot and a pile of snow from the plow!


Roots | Shoots