Bird Bath

This is where I write, three years after the self-timer shutter snapped. Double exposure (home & Ripperz concert); Winnipeg, MB; September 2015. 

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The book in my hand droops distractedly as I lie in the bath. Candlelight dances on the water-splotched tile surround and I am reminded yet again that the tub is due for a good scrub. My eyes continue to stray from the printed dialogue of Charles Frazier's latest called 'Nightwoods' (highly entertaining). I simply cannot help but pause to observe my bird-child attempt to peck his way out of his dappled shell. Every few sentences, eyes cut from print to skin. His body is growing rapidly though the volume of fluid he swims in remains the same. Thus the entertainment from my vantage point gets better and better with each end of day de-robing.

Peck, peck, peck. I can't help but wonder if I will indeed give birth to a winged creature.

The child in my daily care--Leo--has named the babe Moltress; "a fiery winged creature who has the power of Sacred Fire. A Legendary" he says to me with convincing urgency between mouthfuls as we eat leftovers at the table this afternoon. I have nary a clue as to what these words of his mean, but I do enjoy the imagery. A Legendary, indeed.

This point in pregnancy marks twenty eight weeks of growth / togetherness. My body magically undertakes the daily work required in the process of knitting together a human being. I try to do my part externally by eating lots of leafy greens, drinking plenty of water, moving my body and breathing deeply. So far, so good. This evening I stand at the edge of my third trimester. Nothing to do but surrender to the great free fall that is new motherhood and enjoy the ride in. There he goes again: knees, heels, elbows (I cannot seem to get a handle on where his body is positioned within my own) drag along my innards with surprising zeal. At times it feels like he is literally feeling his way through the dark for the nearest exit.

Patience young grasshopper, trust in yourself that you will know when it's time to descend toward the light. Or maybe birth will take a totally unexpected sharp corner and we will both go careening off the tracks. Time shall tell!

Surrender, remain present.

My mantra on this side of new motherhood.

I grin as I write. Can't wait to meet you Moltress. In the meantime, keep on exploring your tight quarters. It is a wondrous feeling and an incredible sight.

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Ni tunes his mandolin. Winnipeg, MB; December 2014.

Chopping onion at the table inside the Sugar Shack. Near Roseisle, MB; January 2015.

In the meadow together. Near Roseisle, MB; July 2015.

By honeysuckle, blessed

My ma and sweet Luella.

Auntie Daryl and sweet Elliot.

Elliot and Lue.

E & L; pool date.

Reesa takes a dip.

Jenn feeds Forest on my daybed.

Winnipeg, MB; July 2018
Kiev 60 / Tri-X Pan 125 (forty + year old film! / processed with Ilford DDX 1+9)

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This evening I lay on my daybed as the light of day sank behind the neighborhood trees heavy with foliage.  Sweet summer nights. As I lay I listened to a friend cry as she drove, eleven hours from my daybed spot. Nothing quite like driving while weeping. Weeping while driving. My child danced under the weight of my hand resting on this new hill of life climbing toward the heavens. As I listened, I wished I could recite a spell for her to use in solitude. Write down what you wish to dispel yourself of and tear it into a million tiny pieces. Throw those ripped bits into fast flowing water or better yet, flames. Good riddance dead weight.

Good riddance.

Even later in the evening while flipping through a well worn book, my fingers stopped their grazing at the sight of this Jeni Couzyn poem. This one goes out to those who need a little softness tonight. Peace be with you.

I love you my friend. Send your demon down the river and don't look back.

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Spell to Soften the Hard Heart of a Woman by Jeni Couzyn

The almond has trapped herself in a cage of bone,
The chestnut in bristle is hidden,
The gnarled old man still trembles like a boy at the sound of your name.

Your hurt be in the ground,
Your fear be in the wind, 
Your pain be in the stone.

The chords of your heart are untied,
The envious thorn is drawn from your eye,
The scaly armour falls from you making you young.

By this flame, holy,
By this water, holy, 
By earth, holy,
By air, holy.

The spiteful shadow is trimmed from your heel,
The nine wounds from your mother's whip are washed from your blood,
Your dark of father is filled with father love.

Be blessed by gardenia,
By hyacinth, blessed,
By honeysuckle, blessed,

By this star, holy,
By night, holy,
By laughter, holy,
By this kiss, holy.