Sunrise, face east

South-west Calgary was continuing its march--more south than west. The children of the Big Generation were filling schools faster than they could be built. There were many Albertan heroes who gave their names to the new schools, and patiently waited for their doors to open. Nellie One Lung. John Where. Louie Re-al. And that year the Chinook winds were so strong they blew over the first brick walls of Louis Riel, not once, but twice.

As children we watched astonished as Nellie McClung took shape before our eyes. It looked like the star ship Enterprise--its bridge, the new library, described a full circle. In a circle around it, classrooms set up in open concept, with dividers on wheels, and the occasional stubby bookcase defining the area and driving in each teacher's land claim stake from the September gold rush.

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Day's eye

About a week ago what is left of the natural landscape in Ottawa--and a number of lawns that have been let to run riot--gave over to the annual dandelion pride. Dent de lion . The teeth of a lion bite a place for themselves and parade their yellow banner for a week before exploding into puff balls of parachuting seeds. But even before the seeds have blown to their new homes, their place on urban hills is taken by ever so slightly more respectable daisies that open most precociously at dawn. Daes eag . Day's eye. A suitable opening for a near Summer's day. Now these are honest bloomers--not sophisticated with heavy petals like potted mums. These showboaters of Summer overshadow their fleabane or aster cousins, who compete, blinking their eyelash petals when the sun is done, bundled in a royal mauve or a flirtatious pink. Also showing now are the heroes of the hedgerow, the bluebells or foxglove from which we have derived the heart medication digi...

Up along (for Charlotte)

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The city mover beat me to the chicory this evening maybe if I had passed by earlier I could have caught a glimpse of them but they will rise Phoenix like from the close cropped pile of grass and weed and present their brash and uneven beauty once again before the need for carpet and trimming loops of magic made by subterranean rug weavers is once again mandated and duly executed by the city crew in the burnt orange cabs of their ride along mowers browning the backs of their hands and letting the heat weather beat their faces to match the cabs and fulfill some unspoken contract between landscaping and maintenance and the gods of Chance Fortune as ever favouring the bold there will be other routs of the mover before the Summer is done and more rain hopefully if I can contain the fear of thunderheads building and more returns of visible biodiversity Nature never surrenders unconditionally but like a lover choosing her battl...

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