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Join me for a reading of The Wellspring: Ancestors, Plants and HealingYou don't need a ticket.... just come!
Here is a short excerpt:
The Raven
I was living in an older part of a small city. It was a tidy neighbourhood. The lawns were mowed on Saturday mornings. Everyone walked on the sidewalks. Red and pink geraniums bloomed on cement steps leading to front doors with small windows made for peeking through. Everyone in the neighbourhood politely waved. I knew no one’s name.
When a letter addressed to me accidentally found its way into a neighbour’s mailbox, the neighbour courteously knocked on my door. Invited in for tea, the neighbour’s eyes wandered over my furnishings and the dishes in the kitchen sink.
“We prefer to wash dishes by hand than use the dishwasher.” And the neighbour nodded with a tight-lipped smile, no wrinkles forming around her eyes.
I found the neighbourhood stifling. I felt watched and talked about. I was a stranger in a neighbourhood where everything and everyone was familiar.
It was in this neighbourhood where I met a raven.
I first met the raven after a sleepless night. I was sitting on the front porch in morning’s early silver-grey light, dew had settled on lawns and had just begun to sparkle with the first rays of light when the raven appeared. The big black bird strutted down the middle of the street, pausing every few steps, cocking her head as if she was listening to the neighbourhood’s early-morning dreams.
After that day, I joined the raven on her morning forays up and down the neighbourhood’s streets, seeking dreams. She led with the confident swagger of ownership while I followed with the humble attitude of an interloper. Once, I tried to imitate the gurgles, clicks and soft croaks she made as she inspected the streets’ intersecting realities. She jerked her head and glared at me with a single eye. I never made another sound.
The house I lived in was the biggest on the street. With three floors stacked on top of each other, it towered over the other houses. During the day, its roof offered the raven a perfect opportunity to survey the street. The bird watched people drive in and out of their driveways, kids ride bikes and holler at each other and cats slumber on wooden fences and under prickly shrubs. The raven, like a shadow, took everything in.
I lived on the third floor. My room faced the street. I had the same view as the raven.
It was hot as hell on the third floor that summer. A small fan sat in the open window blowing warm air around the room as I painted, sweating. The paintings were strange: collages of brains covered in black cross hatching, blue skulls and cemeteries where cats dreamt on tombstones. I painted a large woman wearing glasses emerging from swirls of blood-red paint. Another painting was a mess of lines and black dots. Sometimes, as I stepped back to study a painting, I heard the soft flutter of the raven’s wings and I would turn to catch of glimpse of her shiny blackness passing the open window.
See you there....
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Event Venue & Nearby Stays
Wakefield Library, 38 ch Valley-de-Wakefield,Wakefield, Quebec, Canada
