Thoughts
"Only flying is what matters,
and flying is her instinct,
not an acquired skill"
- Oblivion
Since the last note in May, when we were just beginning to warm into Spring, Summer has passed and Fall is getting set to give into Winter. Canadian geese are busy every day organizing their great annual migration to the South.
This Summer, I went on my solo driving trip again: this time to Yukon. I covered about 6,000 km in 10 days, staying on the way at Dawson Creek, BC, and then camping and stopping by at many places on my way to Whitehorse and then to Dawson City, Yukon. Every place was so beautiful, comparing them with one another would be pointless. I saw Buffaloes, Caribou, Deer, Elk, Bears, Mountain Goats, Bighorn Sheep, tiny mountain Squirrels, Birds, Wild Plants, and above all people. There are some pictures for you from that trip, and some around Calgary during the fall.
You know, I am always looking forward to hearing from you.
All the best and enjoy your season which will soon be Winter here in the Northern Hemisphere and Summer in the Southern.
Also, I have recorded a new poem "Rocky Mountains" before the Rockies; you will find it under the "Reading" tab.
Calgary November 29, 2023
Northern Rockies: Toad River, BC
Whtiehorse Pathway Totem
Whitehors downtown
Emerald Lake between Whitehorse and Carcross
Dawson City downtown
Dawson City
Mountain goats
Buffalo herd
A black bear on the way
Muncho Lake, BC, first camp site
Watson Lake, Signs park, Yukon
Whitehorse, nine stools representing the Indigenous languages of students in Indian Mission School (1947-1960)
A mini library. Whitehorse
SS Klondike, the Sternwheeler used during the gold rush
A Keralite (South-Indian) food truck by Yukon River, Whitehorse
Miles Canyon, Whitehorse
Carcross town center between Whitehorse and Fraser BC
Whitepass Train ride, retracing the Klondike gold route, from Fraser BC to Skagway, Alaska
Five fingers Rapids on Yukon River between Whitehorse and Dawson City
Dawson city campsite
Dawson City
Wooly Mammoth, Dawson City
Dawson City, Downtown
Midnight Sun Hotel Bar, Dawson City
Mountain goats
Cariibou
We are midway into spring in the northern hemisphere, and it is felt more, I mean the change, in more northern parts of that hemisphere here in Canada. I noticed that more physically this year, after a long— very long— winter, when I saw with wonder, how fast the plants were changing their foliage, maybe they have always been like that and I hadn’t seen or learned to see rather, but many of those plants are already in bloom and again that may have been like that always regardless of my attention. No matter how much we would have wished to get out of the winter, I still hold dearly, some parts of it with fond memories.
There’s always something beautiful with each season and of course, I always am more tied to what has been, yet, to celebrate the winter, I have to offer some short poems which might be called Haiku or Senryu or Tanka. I am still in the early stages of my exploration of the verses and may not be in a position to claim their structure fitting into an approved format under those three forms, yet I can assure you that more often than not—if I have understood correctly the most important aspect of such forms— I have tried to put down to words what I saw or felt. Those short pieces also helped me to fulfill my insatiable urge to dip into the world of verses. Here, I share some of those as we bid adieu to one more of the winter season.
I am still working on the art of disappearance which is contrary to the struggle for appearances all my life and through poems I am trying to attain that or rather give up the attainments. I hope to be working on it to get to a stage where the writer, the words all without any trace— just the poem and the reader will
be left and that will be enough.
Like always, please let me know your views when you get a moment if you can.
May 22, 2023
As another year passes by on my birthday, I am wondering where to now!
Rather than just philosophical musing, I am looking at it more as a practical question. I am not thinking about heavy subjects like “ the purpose of life”, I am just mulling over options to keep holding my interest in my living not just feeling like hanging my gloves and stacking my shoes on the rack to sit in the basement glued to the TV. There is nothing wrong with that either but that doesn’t seem to work for me not every day or even for a sizeable part of the days.
That’s when my nostalgic experiences kick in and I start wondering how did I start my sojourn here. While pondering over that question, I wrote a poem “ How did I wait to be born” and I have shared that in an audio version on the “Reading” page. Please read when you can find some time (from the deluge of forwarded messages and videos) and as always, I will be happy to receive any comments or suggestions you can offer.
May 10, 2023
I stumbled upon poetry, after dabbling in it a few times in the past but not like how it took off around February of 2022. I am not sure if my writings qualify as poems or for that matter if I can be called a poet. It has been an exploration, not in any way like the claimed discoveries of Columbus or Vasco da Gama. It has rather been like going on a hike and getting wonder-struck looking at sun set in the mountains or looking at the cloud formations or the play of the amber light in the sky or seeing Aurora Borealis for the first time or even driving by a wild bear crossing the highway causing stalled traffic.
It is an enlivening experience, nonetheless, and that is adequate to fill me without the desire of ownership. Just the reveling is enough. Then, trying either to immortalize that moment or to share that experience - albeit vicariously or both, prods the verses to come. The verbal expression, of course, comes with limitations of my vocabulary, style and articulation etc. However, a birth certificate does not give validation to a birth; just gives a name.
I believe, everybody has a bit of poetry in them- expressed or not, manifest or not. Let us celebrate that and just that.
