The beauty of your body elates the eyes
mountains, streams, trees, lakes and sea
the radiant day of your first sunrise
snow and air and eagles set free.

Your people lift and delight my soul
with their peace, kindness and joy
native and creative energy unfold
and turn this old man into a boy.

Oh Canada! sadly and soon I must go
I’ll miss your freshness and peace
when I cross the border below
may my affection for you never cease.

The maple makes its glory complete
with such elegance and grace
halo shadow of crimson and gold at its feet
wet fall day a shimmering sacred space.

I can’t find my left glove
we have to go back to Lost Lake
to search.
Glove found on the ground
where they gathered leaves of red and gold
oh-ing and ah-ing
in awe of a bold autumn.

Where are my keys?
Frantically we look
Sis finds them between the seat and console
dropped when buckling my seatbelt.

Where are my new leather gloves
iPhone flashlight out to see in the deepening shadows.
They are on the floor right behind my feet.

We laugh at our aging ineptitude
happy we are together
finding mutual aid and humor
at Lost Lake.

At the table next to us a Middle Eastern twenty-something
teaches English to a young Asian woman
so attentive and kind is he.

Closer to the entrance in a small open space
in this tightly appointed place
a young man is doing deep knee bends
arms facing forward
the earnest look on his face almost makes me believe
he cares not about the glances at his gym-making exercise.

At another table three Asian youngsters
sit with smart phones in hand
only occasionally sharing their reactions with each other
so relaxed each being in another world in close proximity.

An older disheveled bearded man
rolling his household-packed luggage behind him
resolutely makes for the counter to place his order
of espresso and scone.

A couple obviously enamored
lean forward
their eyes dancing
a tango in French.

My eavesdropping self
wishes I were a polyglot
to travel internationally right here
in this 24 hour friendly school of culture
nestled on a busy corner
in this city of spectacular beauty.

Solomon tells God not to forget his promises he made to his father, David, of successors and protection.

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

I wonder what his promises are to me
if he has made any at all.

But if he has not
he has in a million small and large matters
protected me
except when I didn’t allow him to
which is probably most of the time.  

Dare I expend the energy
to mentally list these matters?  

I seem so lazy  
when I think of my parents and how they sacrificed
their pleasure and comfort for me,
when I think of the pain I caused Mom
from the first weeks of conception on.
Oh how I have taken that love for granted.  
How much more so with my Creator.  

But truth is, I cannot separate the love
of Mamma and Daddy
friends who bore my boorishness
kin who’ve overlooked me overlooking them
I cannot separate these
from the fingers of the great sculptor.    

(See I Kings 8:25-30)

The wind and stream of this day
catch me
whirl me around and around
I wonder if I ‘m being ground down
to become a smother stone
course edges honed into sparkling sand
or will the deep-rooted hidden
sadness
doubt
and fear
replace the wind
with a kind of pitiful persistent darkness
that bedevils and erodes the heart
and swallows the wiggles and joy
of the giggling little boy
still alive inside?

On the other hand

Yet I search
like da Gama, Cortez and Armstrong
like Jesus, Buddha, and Black Elk
yet I hope for  
a kernel
a grain
a glimmer
of the overwhelming
never-ending
reckless love of God.

the skeptical scientific me
who wonders if it’s a show
people putting their best selves forward
for me and thee?

the faithful me who chooses to believe
in resurrection and life after earth
the me who remembers rebirth
and the joy that rained in my heart?

the me that lets go and falls into love
of the greeters and door-openers
happy to see smiling faces
on a day with parted clouds above?

the me bruised
with the bumps of reality and loss
nailed daily by the boundaries I cross
forgetting prayer and missing cues?

I know something of the person I am
but which self in which place
I fall into isn’t in a program.
In my better moments that fickle self
stumbles and falls into grace.