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


Monday, Jul. 26, 2004 @ 12:23 pm
The Lions



This morning they slumber there, the Lions, sleepy in the humid nebulous morning. For years they've watched me and I've watched them, their snowy manes moulting to sleek black basalt.

I know them now, I know how their rocky skin feels warm. I know what they see, from the islands of Howe Sound to the smoggy spread of the city and suburbs. Three hundred and sixty degrees of freedom.

He told me I was cold and closed and confusing. He told me that I don't have the ability to care. Does he not know me at all or does he know me too well?

Has my carefully crafted armour of independence caused me to lose my need for a man? (It's you not me. It's me not you.)


The Lions from our roof


The Approach


Sore Feet


Roots | Shoots