The Wisp & The Wonder
The Wisp & The Wonder is an art book and poetry collection that explores the relationships between inner and outer worlds; the bonds that link the individual with everything else. Through watercolour paintings, pen & pencil illustrations, and poetry, immerse yourself in the interconnectedness that is all around us.
The Loon's Cry
Do you remember that afternoon?
My tree-sap sticky hands on kneecaps,
watching bees dance between gaps
of flower pot blooms.
You, in the garden like so often,
shirt stained green and gold by pollen,
picking sunshine briefly captured in strawberry form.
The ground was dry and cracked.
You said the loon would answer back
when thirsty earth supplicated for a sip.
Just then, the tan grass sighed
and the summer swelter softened
as swollen clouds rolled over August sun.
And with a water pail in your wrinkled hand,
almost like you had it planned,
you looked towards the lake and said,
With arrested breath and arms goose-fleshed,
a song of ghostly magic filled the air.
You held me closely as the sky spilled over,
bathed by both warm rain and your care.
and raindrop-trickled nose.
Lost in the moment that we shared…
I'd Been Hiking for an Hour
when my body asked to rest.
A small clearing in the woods called my name.
The moss, sunlit and soft.
The trees, serving shelter.
A secluded setting was saturated
by the scent of sweet soil and cedar.
I lay my head on a living pillow of greenery,
organic machinery of budding leaves and fronds unfurling.
Looking up at the gentle swaying of evergreen boughs,
I noticed how much those elder giants moved.
A deep sigh escaped my lips as eyelids closed;
my body bathed by a peace I’ve never known.
And with racing,
roaring mind now resting,
I could finally feel,
a healing harmony weaving
throughout every fragment of creation.
With eyes sealed shut,
a lattice of golden threads emerged,
strands connecting me
with every life that has occurred.
And like a network of mycelium links
and a sapling with the forest,
I too am interwoven with the world.
Unbroken in this moment,
the borders of my being blur;
uncertain is the boundary
where I begin and end.
Every decomposing carcass
and misguided act of darkness.
Every huckleberry bloom
and fragile fetus in a womb.
Sorrow’s suffocating grip.
A gentle kiss on lover’s lips.
Leap of Faith
I see you,
running for your life.
The hungry wolf-pack’s breath on your back;
A roaring river of grey fur and white fangs
threatens to pull you under.
You’re just a little bit quicker.
The end of this path’s fast approaching,
but when you’re being chased by monsters,
the cliff-edge appears like a dear friend,
an end to these gnawing fears.
Leaping into the unknown,
your heart is unsure how hard
this fall will be.
But, there I wait,
on the other side of this divide,
ready to catch you with soft arms
of meadow grass and wildflowers.
Mind or matter,
Paradise or peril,
Everything dissolves and fades in time.
Relationships that fill your heart,
Misery that tears apart,
A wave of clouds in endless, open sky.
Notice how this moment
Ends as soon as it begins.
Nothing can evade
It was sometime in high school when the seed was sown in topsoil. A seed that took hold in the field of my mind, roots creeping deeper and deeper, gripping bare bedrock with sharp, crooked teeth. It was a belief that told me my worth as a person was thoroughly tangled and tied to how busy I am and what I achieve.
Regrettably, as I frantically fly from one reddish-orange bloom to the next, I forget I should taste what I’m drinking; I’m thinking this nectar’s supposed to be sweet. I am drunk on momentum and numb is my pin-needle tongue.
Life feels diminished;
my turn is not finished.
I’m convinced it’s a zero-sum game.
Second-guessing decisions, my moves are like hairpins but…
I have heron ambitions.
Ideally, one day, I’ll be standing serenely surrounded by minnows and mollusks below.
A regal example of blueish-grey grace, chasing reddish-orange blooms I’ll forgo. But for now, I fervently flap weary wings to maintain a nodding head raised above freezing water.
How can I stop when they’re all working harder than me?
His mind is a teeming forest.
Its plants, dense and green.
Its creatures, present but unseen.
In fact, everything
found within it
But there he stands, amidst it all,
convinced he caused the chickadees’ call,
believing he made the fir trees grow tall,
assuming he formed the waterfall.