Summer and Fall
Those long journeys back and forth, up and down
West to East, North to South and back again
Two or more times a year travelling round
This erratic province: The Where and When
Of destinations and milestones between,
Fracturing each trip into discrete chunks –
All those small towns passed through but not quite seen
Beyond a gas station or café: spelunks
On this Journey To Nowhere – everywhere
Dipping in to a non-descript town's rim
And never sticking round anywhere
Long enough to find what ore lies within
These passing-by locations on that road
To someplace else. Early morning rising,
Sometimes in the chill of a layby-goad
To packing up tent and bag, reprising
The back-packing adventures of my youth;
Sometimes beside a lake – the frosty morn
And icy ablutions – my own Truth
As I enter the water and swim, shorn
Of every misconception in the dawn
Before the Sun has emerged in the glow
Of the Eastern Sky, where Light and Warmth spawn
To birth the next day of 'pack-up-and-go'.

Every journey has its beginning, and
Every journey has its end; in between
Is the Back and Forth where the flying land
Passes by, flickering, through the windscreen,
The scenery unreeling, revealing
Itself on the horizon distantly
With everything between concealing
Its full truth waiting ahead expectantly
For me to pass by: a blink of an eye,
And it's gone! – receding into The Past –
Hamlets so small, wink and you'll pass by
Without noticing them – driving too fast
To see much of anything in the rush
To reach that terminal destination.
On one trip South, I wounded a Thrush
That flew up suddenly in blind anticipation
Of a New Day's foraging – the one time
In all my years driving, I killed something
Larger than a flying insect: My Crime,
To kill a hapless bird-on-the-wing.

I stopped the car, turned and drove back to where
I could see the tiny thing fluttering
On the highway; but when I drove back there
It was already too late. Sputtering
A fragile spasm, one final shudder,
And it was over: This songbird was dead.
I could only stare, lost in the utter
Futility of those events that led
To this sad, solemn moment on the road
To nowhere – all those pretty colours doomed
To seep away in dumb decay: My ode
To a pretty songbird silenced on the grey tomb
Of the ever unravelling tarmac.
How about all those flying insects killed
On that unravelling highway back
And forth during the season whose warmth filled
My tent beside the road? Just flying bugs
Impacting the windscreen with a loud smack
That spattered green goo as though petty thugs
Were vandalising my car. Do I lack
Compassion for these small, swarming creatures
Going about the business of survival?
Do insects lack those comforting features
We associate with Bird and Mammal –
Softness, warmth, parental care? They too, are
What they are: Living beings active in
The astonishing dance of Life my car
And I have taken away! Journeys begin,
And journeys end, and in between, we
Find the intricate dance each living thing
Joins on its brief journey to nowhere to be
In the chorus of the song we all sing.
Coquitlam, BC, in the comforts of an armchair over a cuppa tea 15-03-2019

Winter And Spring
Icy Northern Lake in the stiff chill of
A September Sunrise, the sleeping world
Beginning to quicken; the sky above
Pale as a vague mist, Dawn not yet unfurled,
But there is a distinct glow to the East
And soon the Sun shall burnish the sky
A hard, hot blue; but, I shall be at least
A hundred kilometres gone as I
Careen headlong towards the rising Sun,
On this, my latest journey to Nowhere
Towards a destination not yet won.
How far away is it to go back there?

Every season has seen me on the road,
But I think it was Autumn I loved best
As the leaves on deciduous trees showed
Fiery yellow and the valleys were blessed
With a spectacular display unfurled
Against the Conifers in the Autumn Sunlight.
Winter was worst as Mother Nature hurled
Snowstorm after snowstorm and I would fight
The Darkness, seeing great dancing snowflakes
Flinging themselves out of the solid void
Of Darkest Night, gusting so that it takes
All one's strength to keep going and avoid
Leaving a road I could no longer see.
On the highway, wet snow turned to slush was
Sure to blow off a jug of that stuff we
Use to keep our car's windscreen clear, because,
Every lorry roaring past sent a wave
Of muddy brown washing over the car.
Lay-bys I passed were like an auto's grave
As other motorists pulled off as far
From the storm as they could on the highway.
I certainly wouldn't be speeding then:
Under these circumstances, best to stay
Crawling steadily forward as, again
Snow so thick I can barely see the road
Peering into the blackness seeing snow
Driving towards me, great white flakes that glowed
In the headlamps' beam – I'm driving so slow
Crawling on the road, hunched over the wheel
In stiff concentration. There is a town
Coming up where I can gas up and steal
A moment's respite; perhaps hang around
In a Tim Horton's over a hot cup
Of Steeped Tea. Winter and Spring would find me
Sleeping in a hotel on the drive up:
Winter and Spring drives down, and I would be
Overnighting in a friend's caravan,
Water turned off so the pipes don't freeze – cold,
Tired, that hard ache in my leg that began
Hundreds of kilometres back – an old
Pain that travels up my back, soothed for now …
Early rising, gas up again; get back
On the Highway and pull over somewhere
In the Fraser Canyon for a big stack
Of pancakes and a pot of tea … a fair
Drive ahead of me, that nightmare journey
Of the preceeding day, behind me at last.
It's daytime and green everywhere I see
Clear road ahead, now that the worst is past.
16-03-2019