I couldn't sleep and saw the full moon in the West when I rose but after I'd made coffee and let the dog out, it was gone. A full moon on the Equinox is auspicious, and I saw a light of mystery and psychic radiance that the clouds swirled over in the night sky.
It's been a Winter of great snow, more than in half a century. Toronto is usually warm and wet, it snows and turns to slush and melts. This year the snows fell, and fell, and fell. We haven't seen ground in months.
The parkette onto which I gaze is like trampled sugar icing with a coating of ice that makes it shiny.
It's been a Winter of shocking revelations for me.
A month ago I fell on the ice, straight like an ironing board, only I curved a little and protected my head while my hip took the impact.
A bruise the size of a snowball turned from brown to black to red to purple and is still present as a pale ochre shadow and I wonder if I will always carry it.
Slowly dawn melts into the sky.
The light is bluish-grey,
the colour he once said
of my eyes.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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