over the hills and faraway....

(composing towards a book)



When we arrived it was forest and ocean and deep, deep sleeps. Our house is at the beach and has a view of the islands. Light changes constantly, the currents and the colours -- it is serene. I love the fog, it's empty space, just the light and the water and the quiet sounds of waves, gulls and distant foghorns. A loon calls, a seal watches. There are otters and the crows fly in one direction.

In the forest the sound changes. Ocean turns to silence then ravens. I hear their wings. There is something human about them, something calculated as if they "know"

I imagine the people who lived here before. The Salish had the same view, the same pine skyline; the same smells the same sounds. As i walk along the beach, watching my feet. I see clamshells and crabs. Looking up i see bald eagles. I imagine what they see, picturing the first peoples in their canoes, the hunting and the fishing; their villages, their voices. They don't sound at all like the people here now

Our first winter was a long one. Low tides at night, the moon's reflection off the flat black ocean. Windstorms, power outages, heavy snow in the trees --the silence broken now and then by a plow or hydro workers fixing the lines