#naturesdesign

My Sunday Places Notebook takes me to a near yet far away place because it can only truly be reached through a child’s heart. We call it Heaven Must Be Here. It leaves tomorrow behind and is nestled somewhere between now and those forever days.

Here, at our cottage on the shores of Lake Huron, time stops as we know it. An old grandfather clock from the early 1900’s has its patinated hands permanently set at 3:34 p.m. We chose not to fix the frozen keeper of hours. I often wonder what happened at that moment on the day of a distant year. I feel that it must have been a memorable one, not a significant event, rather a special moment in time when a butterfly stretched its art wings to the sun, when the forget-me-nots offered a timid wave in a gentle breeze, and when the lake’s ebb and flow circled a beach rock in perfect and beautiful geometry.

Here, the wind caresses cheeks and whispers sweet nothings. Listen. Did you hear that? The heavenly child can play tricks rustling through the old wise trees.

Here, a symphony performs from dawn to dusk. If you listen carefully there are a myriad of instruments that key in harmonically as if guided by a master conductor. Small petals dance to the sonata strings of long summer field grasses and the drums of hummingbird wings keep all to the beat.

Here, silence has its own melodic tune; hauntingly mesmerizing and beautiful.

Here is where my favourite flower blankets the ground each spring. I’ve always loved the delicate little white bells and their sweet smell. They take me back to a childhood storybook where Mother Earth’s root children celebrate new beginnings with large lily of the valley lanterns.

Our Eden tree stands constant in a small garden island within the surrounding waters. It romances the rising sun and purple sunsets with its wispy silhouette. The hot summer surrounds it with bright chlorophyll green, water lilies, and wildflowers and offers a canvas of meandering Monet strokes; my live masterpiece.

Here is where wishes are made through dandelion heads against a fiery end-of-day sky.

And when the twilight touches the lake, illuminated trees strung with hammocks stand still and quite to give the stage to lonely bullfrog calls and distant night bird songs. 

Once upon a time

Tiny white petals danced

To the sonata strings

Of summer field grasses

Frivolous children

They twirled

Until the days grew short

And their fragile wings

Became still and set

Into graceful poses

- Regina Sturrock

Crystal Slivers 

Boreas blew in with the northern winds

And settled in among a thick of old trees

An aged man himself

He found solace there

Among the deep-rooted souls

Set in his ways

Fierce

And with not a fanciful thought

Because those were for the long days

He swirled his cold breath

Sculpting drifts into sharp frosty waves

And icy creatures

That would shape into one

Brumal giant  

Only to disperse across the land

Into millions of crystal slivers  

Flickering with folklore  

Because this was his time

To tell the stories of bygone winters

When youth was on his side

When the light pales

And meadows rest

Beauty shines

Resilient

And with faith

That all will awaken

When the light blushes