Just Breathe

On August 12, 2022August 12, 2022 By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, Poetry21 Comments

There was another year of Covid,

but we crawled out of our caves

like newborn butterflies with sticky wings,

slow and hesitant in the spring sunshine.

We hoped to migrate to a new home

of our own, a fresh start…

but the inheritance was not enough.

Nevertheless the landlord said, “Go.”

A flutter of wings, a flurry,

a tiny hurricane of stress,

and searching, searching, searching

for a safe place to land.

A flying in the dark

—a trusting through blindness—

through not knowing at all

what was meant to be.

The summer sun swelled with heat

yet no shady dale

or safe valley dappled with sunshine

appeared—until it did.

And then it did.

Out of the concrete embrace

of the city we flew,

away from sirens and cement

towards the cedars and starlight.

Towards wind whispering in the fir trees,

the moon staring at me on my patio

and winking as I grin and grin

at the wonder of my new home.

And evenings filled with sunshine

sparkling in the sprinkler-kissed grasses

of the wildflower field

that is my unmowed back yard.

And glistening on the rosy skin

of my newborn daughter,

sleeping like a little wild nymph

in my joyful arms.

“And all is well

And all is well

And all manner of things

shall be well.”

Julian of Norwich

Rainy Sidewalk Fireworks

On May 8, 2022 By Anna EastlandIn motherhood, Writing6 Comments

Morning comes to the sidewalk. The long green grasses stretch their stalks in front of the grey cobblestone wall behind them. They tilt sideways, holding their pose in an elegant still-life ballet—perfectly confident—adorned with nothing but dewdrops.

The wildgrasses primly hold their brown tuft faces still, ignoring the rush of traffic on the wet pavement a few feet away as they perform their morning yoga.

People trudge by, clinging to their red Tim Horton’s coffee cups, their minds swirling with tasks and unaware of the zen moment occurring near their feet.

Amid the viridescent grasses, the dandelion puffs are tiny white fireworks, exploding with enthusiasm for the new day. Drunk on fresh rainwater, a perfectly organic energy source, the little lions laugh at the Starbucks across the road. No need for a cuppa joe here. They greet the world with bright-eyed grins.

The transformation of their blond manes to bursts of white worries them not a wit. They know nothing of paperwork, or headaches, or housework; nothing of gas prices, or housing markets, or wars.

I want to lie down in the grass with them, the invigorating rain water soaking into my skin. If I shed enough worry, perhaps I’d become light enough to fly away with the dandelion seeds. Perhaps the little spinning helicopters and I could land somewhere softer than the harsh sidewalk under my feet.

October Garden

On October 10, 2021October 10, 2021 By Anna EastlandIn Writing8 Comments

It is October. The garden sags under the weight of the year. Leaves wither and curl. Lupins droop and drag their seed pods on the ground. The Earth exposes her belly as the covering of plants dies away. Yet Winter has not yet wrapped her fingers around the life of this place.

Japanese Lanterns hang every few inches, decorating the decay. Along the fence, clusters of flowers bloom. In the lawn, sprinkled with patches of weeds, dandelions hold up their heads to greet the sunshine. Bees still bumble about the garden, resting on the centre of the blossoms before taking off, legs covered in the fairy dust they will use to romance other blooms into existence.

Just beyond the fence, cars whiz by. When the light turns, they idle in front of the house, their drivers unaware of the seasons turning in the garden, moving round and round, tunnelling through time like earthworms, causing everything near them to grow.

This was a little writing exercise I did for a wonderful creative writing course I’m taking with Jonathan Rogers called Writing with Anne of Green Gables . L.M. Montgomery is so talented at painting a visual scene with her words, but surprisingly, doesn’t rely that heavily on adjectives and adverbs. Rather, she uses really vibrant verbs and specific, concrete nouns. For our class we had to describe what we saw outside, but without using adjectives or adverbs. It’s a fun challenge!

And now, since this is my blog and not homework, here are some pictures of my garden! 🪴

Festival of Flowers

On May 30, 2021 By Anna EastlandIn Photos1 Comment

Trumpet of Joy

On March 14, 2021March 14, 2021 By Anna EastlandIn Poetry5 Comments

Deep-throated daffodil,

blast out your message of hope!

Rebel against the weariness of despair,

the back-breaking burden of seriousness,

the meticulous dissection of fearful plans.

Daffodil, shout!

None of the world’s noise is loud enough

to silence the sound of your wordless proclamation:

“Have hope, hope, hope!”

The grimy winter is grinding to a halt

and from the earth’s breast,

goodness is springing forth once again.

A world of grey is shattered

by one shard of green and yellow life.

Now that I am back home

On August 3, 2020 By Anna EastlandIn Poetry2 Comments

Now that I am back home,

there are still the birds

and the sky,

the sunshine on green leaves

and the fresh morning air

on my face

when I first step outside

to water the garden,

trying to make of my little home

a dwelling place of beauty and love.

It Is Worth It

On August 1, 2020 By Anna EastlandIn Poetry2 Comments

It is worth it to stay up half the night

to see the misty moon

disappear and re-emerge behind the scattered clouds

that drift like silver ribbons across the sky.

It is worth it to peer up at the quiet stars

and hear above the faint roar of a few cars

on the highway far below

the gentle hoot of an owl.

It is worth it so see the silhouette of trees

standing like living paintbrushes

solemn and still

against the pearly grey night sky.

It it worth it to feel the summer air

on my skin at midnight

and know that the goosebumps

are more from awe

than the slight cool of the breeze.

It is worth it to stay up half the night

to be in love with the ever-changing sky

and write it poetry.

Creation is so beautiful—

my heart is bursting with it!

Can anyone feel so happy as I am

alone with the moon,

in the company of memories?

“Dream and Your Dreams Will Fall Short”

On July 31, 2020 By Anna EastlandIn Friendship, Photos, travel4 Comments

So here’s my happy headline for the week: I’m on workshop at the Copper Ridge Conference Centre at Britannia Beach and it’s amazing! After years of fundraising efforts, and the amazing generosity of many donors, both great and small, the dream of a beautiful, peaceful place for people to come on retreat has come true! But don’t take my word for it—look! This is the view from my room!!

I feel so incredibly happy because when I’m surrounded by beautiful nature, I feel like I’m twelve again, and tromping through the woods with my brothers.

I’ve been able to do things like stick my feet in the cool rushing creek…

…perch on top a huge rock to gaze and the view, read my book and write.

Love this book so far! She is hilarious and inspiring!

…..and swim in the ocean at this beach!

All of this would be great even if we were roughing it and camping, but boy are we not. Instead our small group (half the usual size due to Covid safety measures) is staying in the elegant centre and being treated like queens by the lovely administration who cook for us…a massive treat for a group of busy moms! Because we can only seat two at each table, we’ve taken turns sitting with someone different at most meals, and have all gotten to know each other so much better! This has been a balm for my company-starved soul!