Taste of Summer

It has basically been summer here the last couple of days. Today I got my latte iced and it was delightful.

All That's Good and Green

I've never really liked spring, but for some reason, this year, I'm basking in it.

The grass is getting greener, the coffee shop garage door has been open for several days in a row, and all of us who have been hiding in our apartments and offices and houses are beginning to emerge into the sunshine.

There's something magical about the first days of spring. The sun starts to warm up, the breeze becomes gentler, and suddenly the nice is unleashed in people. Not that this is abnormal in Nova Scotia. People are just plain friendly here. More on that another day.

It's odd though. Not having slogged through a horrendous winter this year, I feel as if somehow we haven't earned all of this.

The vivacity of one of those moments would burn us

from "A Tale of Two Gardens"
Octavio Paz

A house, a garden,
                           are not places:
they spin, they come and go.
                                        Their apparations open
another space
                    in space,
another time in time.
                             Their eclipses
are not abdications:
the vivacity of one of those moments
                                                   would burn us
if it lasted a moment more.
                                      We are condemned
to kill time:
                so we die,
little by little.
                  A garden is not a place.
Down a path of reddish sand, 
we enter a drop of water,
drink green clarities from its center,
we climb
            the spiral of hours
to the tip of the day,
                             descend
to the last burning of its ember.
Mumbling river,
                      the garden flows through the night.


I mark the changing of the seasons by these trees, but my absolute favourite time is when the bloom in the spring. The flowers never last very long because the first good gust of wind blows the petals off the trees and creates what my mom likes to call an impromptu wedding in our backyard. The other morning, a couple of days after I took this picture, I actually looked out the window and thought it was snowing because all of the petals were raining down. The weather is a bit gloomy right now, so I thought that sharing something simple and beautiful and summery was a good idea.

I love the opening of this poem. Octavio Paz writes truly stunning poems. The idea of gardens being loci for nostalgia is wonderful and enchanting. They are no longer places but time itself in some way. They capture moments and feelings and then unleash them on you when you return. I think any place is like that, imprinted by the past, imbued with memory. Objects, places hold history within themselves. Not just our personal memories either. I always feel as if locations and objects hold historical memories. Perhaps this is why old buildings or vintage objects are so fascinating. They hold countless stories. And perhaps this is also why sometimes it is nice to have something brand new, something that is blank, that has the room for you to create your own memories without becoming mixed up in those that came before you. I've never had a garden like that, but I can imagine one. It's really lovely to think about.

Because the light says so

You Must Believe in Spring
Jan Zwicky

Because it is the garden.  What is left to us.
Because silence is not silence without sound
Because you have let the cat out, and then in, and then out,
           and then in, and then out, and then in, and then
           out, and then in, and then out, and then in,
           enough.
Because otherwise their precision at the blue line would
           mean nothing.
Because otherwise death would mean nothing.
Because the light says so,
Because a human being can gladly eat only so much cabbage.
Because the pockets of your overcoat need mending.
Because it's easy not to.
Because your sweaters smell.
Because Gregory of Nazianzen said geometry has no place in
           mourning, by which he meant despair presumes too
           much.
Because it ain't over 'til it's over. - Hank Aaron, Jackie
           Robinson. Satchel Paige.
Because Kant was wrong, and Socrates, Descartes and all the 
           rest.  Because it is the body thinking and Newt 
           Gingrich would like you not to.
Because I love you.  Or you love someone.  Because someone
           is loved.
Because under the sun, everything is new.
Because the wet snow in the tress is clotted light.
Because in 1941 it took six cords of wood to get through a
           winter in one room at Harvard and two-thirds
           of Main used to be open country as a result.
Because sleeping is not death.
Because although an asshole was practising his Elvis Presley
           imitation, full voice, Sunday morning, April 23rd
           at Spectacle Lake Provincial Park, the winter wren
           simply moved 200 yards down the trail.
Because the wren's voice is moss in sunlight, because it is
           a stream in sunlight over stones.
Because Beethoven titled the sonata.
I mean: would Bill Evans and Frank Morgan lie to you?
Because even sorrow has a source.
For, though it cannot fly, the heart is an excellent clamberer.


I know this post is a little out of season since (fingers-crossed) summer seems to be underway in this part of the world. However, the lilac bush at my parents' house never blooms when it ought to. All of the other lilac bushes are blooming like mad, perfuming the air and displaying their frothy purple blooms, but not this one. It's still just barely budding. And it will patiently wait until the other bushes have faded. Only then will it burst forth in a jubilant celebration of a season that is long gone. There is something about this that delights me.

This poem by Jan Zwicky also delights me. This idea that the light demands a belief in spring resonates with me. Light is such an integral part of how I think of the seasons. It, more than the often wacky weather, dictates when the season has begun to change.

To Spring

Sonnet: to Spring
Sylvia Plath

you deceive us with the crinkled green
of juvenile stars, and you beguile us with
a bland vanilla moon of maple cream:
again you tame us with your april myth.

last year you tricked us by the childish jingle
of your tinsel rains; again you try,
and find us credulous once more. A single
diabolic shower, and we cry

to see the honey flavored morning tilt
clear light across the watergilded lawn.
although another of our years is spilt
on avaricious earth, you lure us on:

Again we are deluded and infer
That somehow we are younger than we were.


Sylvia Plath wrote this poem in her journal in August 1951. She was eighteen at the time and finishing up a summer post as a governess of sorts. It was never published, but I still like it. Spring and I have a complicated relationship. I like spring in theory. I am the first to admit that the change in weather has a profound effect on my mood. I always find it amazing how as soon as the sun comes out and the snow starts melting everyone just comes alive. I've really been struck by that wandering through the school the past week or so. It's the most stressful time of the semester, but the emergence of the sun has brought people to life. However, living in Edmonton means that spring can also be downright cruel. There is no guarantee that we won't see snow again before summer. And the mess created by the melting snow and the sand and gravel that has been put on the roads all winter long is just plain disgusting. Plus seasonal changes mean exciting things like my knees swell (I know, I sound like an old woman). So Spring and I have a complicated relationship. I feel like Plath's poem gets at that sense of knowing I am being deluded and yet falling for it every year.

Something's Coming

Something's Coming

from West Side Story

Could be

Who knows?

There's something due any day;

I will know right away,

Soon as it shows.

It may come cannonballing down through the sky,

Gleam in its eye,

Bright as a rose!

Who knows?

It's only just out of reach,

Down the block, on a beach,

Under a tree.

I got a feeling there's a miracle due,

Gonna come true,

Coming to me!

Could it be? Yes, it could.

Something's coming, something good,

If I can wait!

Something's coming, I don't know what it is,

But it is

Gonna be great!

With a click, with a shock,

Phone'll jingle, door'll knock,

Open the latch!

Something's coming, don't know when, but it's soon;

Catch the moon,

One-handed catch!

Around the corner,

Or whistling down the river,

Come on, deliver

To me!

Will it be? Yes, it will.

Maybe just by holding still,

It'll be there!

Come on, something, come on in, don't be shy,

Meet a guy,

Pull up a chair!

The air is humming,

And something great is coming!

Who knows?

It's only just out of reach,

Down the block, on a beach,

Maybe tonight...

I finally talked to Audrey a bit today. It was just a few text messages back and forth, but I've been missing her something fierce lately so it was good to hear from her. Plus, somehow, regardless of the physical distance between us, we always seem to be going through similar places emotionally. It's actually kind of eerie if you think about it too long, but it is one of the things that I value most about our friendship. No matter what I say to her she will understand. She never tells me I'm crazy. She always simply understands and relates. It's a good feeling to be that throughly understood by someone. We were talking about how we both have this sense heading into the new year that something fabulous is going to happen. We have no idea what, but there is just a sense that something is going to happen. It's nice. It's exciting. It's a good change from my typically not-so-sunshiney approach to the new year. And yet... There is something frustrating about this feeling. If I could just figure out what it was that was going to happen I could anticipate it. Or, if it would just happen already then maybe the whole year could be fantastic, feeding off of this one event. I'm feeling a bit like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff. With school coming to an end this is a very real sensation in many ways. I just don't know what is coming next. And even though I have the sense that it is going to be good, I am terrified out of my mind.

Audrey explained this feeling of anticipation by referring to this song from West Side Story. Now, you should know that she and I are both musical theatre junkies. I'm seriously addicted to the stuff. Anyway, it was exactly what I needed. It reminds me a bit of the magical, exciting, anticipatory side of this experience, rather than the dark, scary, looming doom side of it. Plus, I think this provides a nice counterpoint to yesterday's slightly less hopeful (although no less truthful) post.

Pretty in Pink

It has been cool and rainy for the past couple days, and even though I am enjoying the cooler temperatures and the opportunity to wear sweaters again it is kind of bumming me out. Actually, it is mostly making me really tired. And making my knee hurt. Yeah, I'm only 21, but my one knee likes to inform me of dramatic weather changes by aching, sending shooting pains down my shin, and occasionally swelling up to twice its normal size. Anyway, even though I've been longing for fall to arrive, I still am not quite ready to let the dreamy days of summer slip away. That is why I chose this picture today. I took this at that Muttart Conservaory here in Edmonton last summer. The soft pink color and the fuzzy texture are distinctly spring-like in my mind. And the wheat-like shape combined with this makes me think of the first precious days of summer vacation in May and June when I start daydreaming about skipping through fields while wearing lovely summer dresses. Not that this ever happens in real life, but it is a nice daydream. Particularly on blah days like today.

Blossom

One of the things I love about photography is the ability to capture emotions in unexpected images. Take this picture of the blossoms on my neighbour's crab apple tree. I love these trees a lot (as I have previously rambled about here and here) and was super excited a few weeks ago when they were all in full bloom. Sadly, the weather was disgusting so I only got a few shots of them. This picture just screams "celebration" to me. There is somthing so joyful about the branches loaded with flowers and the sun just peaking through the rain clouds to light up on bunch of blooms. Yes, I realize that some people may call me crazy for suggesting that flowers can be happy or sad, but I am okay with that.

Drip, drip, drop, little [June] shower

If April showers bring May flowers, then what do June showers bring? This has certainly been a rather dreary spring so far. I took these pictures last week while wandering my mom's garden. The lily-of-the-valley are so lovely. These ones are quite short and grow really close to the ground so I actually just stuck my camera down and snapped some shots. I think they turned out rather well. (My other option was prostrating myself in the muddy garden and frankly I wasn't feeling that hardcore.)

By the way, stay tuned for some changes to the blog's appearance.

Spring in Unexpected Places

I love being suprised by nature. You know, those moments where you spot something beautiful or unique where you weren't expecting it. I love that. I always think of evergreens as very wintery trees. I think this is because winter is so long here and that is really the only time of year I pay attention to them. Yesterday while I was wandering around the garden though I noticed the buds on the trees out front of our house are starting to appear. I used to love pulling the brown, papery bits off when I was younger. I always thought that I was freeing the pretty little green needles, which are suprisingly soft. After I pulled the paper off I would always run them through my fingers. Hopefully this didn't kill a whole bunch of evergreen buds...that would be unfortunate. Anyway, yesterday the buds just kind of suprised me so I took some pictures of them. I love the contrast between the soft, baby buds and the prickly older needles and the dead, brittle needles. I upped the color saturation in the photo to really make this contrast stand out. I think this officially means that it is spring/summer. If the wintery trees have decided to bud, I'm going to take that as a good sign.

Prelude

Prelude

Margaret Avison

The passive comes to flower, perhaps

a first annunciation for the spirit

launched on its seasons.

The turning-point is morning:

now Budapest, now feathery

fields - where explorers' maps showed nothing -

now a crippled crofter's in his doorway

or the Scandinavians' by the sea.

Under the dry fence

gooseberries dangled on thin stems,

cottony grass buried the fence-posts, the

grainy dirt trickled with ants.

I smell bare knees again and summer's clouds.

Somebody's grandpa came

in shirt-sleeves, solid

and asymmetrical, rooting the word

'trunk', for a child, as right

for man or tree,.

He stood, and gnarled

silently, while he talked over our heads

to some invisible neighbour

we did not bother glancing up to see.

The honeycombing sun

opened and sealed us in

chambers and courts and crooked butteries,

cities of sense.

Tomes sag on the begrimed shelves

locking in light.

Most men would rather take it straight.

Nothing can contrive

accepting. Sparrows in the curbs

and ditch-litter at the

service-station crossroads

alike instruct, distract.

The stone lip of a flower,

the lowest, on the left side,

on the government building,

stares through a different sun.

I lean on the warm stone

and sense its coldness.

The palaces of sense are

patchy after years of hopeless upkeep,

taxes, institutional requisitioning:

a public charge, largely.

A woman with her hair

fixed like a corpse's

is closed like a bank's vault against

even the Sanhedrin of the ranged

windows and towering blocks.

Yet touched to pallor, she

knows day, abruptly,

as I, and the stone flower, abruptly,

suffer the cryptic change.

The turning point of morning, and the

unmerging child,

like the sadness of the summer trees,

assert their changelessness

out of this day-change.

Light, this discovering light, is a beginning

where many stillnesses

yearn, those we had long thought long dead

or our mere selves.

In the moment of held breath

the light takes shape:

now in Osiris, stepping

along the reedy shore of sunset where

stone skiffs manoeuvre through

wild grass and the dark water-gates;

now chipped among the textures of

the chrome, the celanese, the rough-cast plaster,

the stone flower , and my fingers resting on it;

in each at least light finds

one of its forms

and is:

even in the invisible neighbour,

periwigged, black, in hunting pinks,

or rinsing clouts beside the holy river,

who does not bother glancing up to see.

So, here is the story of this post. I had the whole thing typed up and ready to go last night, and then I previewed it and realized that the html was all wonky because the formatting on the poem was far from what it was supposed to be. I was way too tired to figure it out last night so I left it for today. Let me tell you, this is the post that would not format. But I think I finally have it how it is supposed to look. I've been reading Margaret Avison on a prof's recommendation and have to say that I really love her poetry. It's beautiful and full of phrases that are just so luxurious and wonderful. This photo, which is from the Butchart Gardens on Vancouver Island, is the kind of image that the first line "The passive comes to flower" evokes for me. Actually, I could go through this whole poem and come up with images at least for every stanza, if not for every line. Unfortunately, I don't have the exact pictures I want for all of it nor do I have the resources at the moment to get them. Maybe one day in the future I will be able to come back to this poem and put it together in photographs.

P.S. If you haven't watched The Young Victoria yet then you absolutely must. Truly incredible, beautiful film. I shall stop before I gush too much. Just go watch it. And then listen to some Schubert.

Snow Day

Yes, a snow day in May (sorry, I couldn't resist exploiting that particular rhyming opportunity). Apparently this morning was rather blizzard-like what with the continuing insane wind and the snow. I was asleep at that point, or at least trying very hard to sleep, so I only know this from what my mom told me and the fact that the world was completely white when I finally did drag myself out of bed. I had probably the worst sleep I've had in quite a while last night. It was pouring rain and incredibly windy which meant that the sound of pounding rain on my window woke me up about every half hour. And then around the time that stopped, the neighbours decided to run their truck for a very long time (which I understand in winter, but not any other time of the year), and by then my family was getting up and making noise. On the bright side one of my sweet cats came and slept on my bed with me all night. Normally I don't allow the cats into my room at night (due to the fact that they tend to wreak havoc with my possessions) and on the odd occassion that I do let one of them in they usually want out at 3 in the morning and wake me up with their meowing and scratching at the door. But it was like my kitty knew I was sick. She spent the afternoon on the couch with me and then ensconced herself on my bed around 11 and didn't leave until 6 in the morning (which is her breakfast time and she is rather fond of food). And she spent the afternoon today with me on the couch again. Such a good cat. On the bright side, despite my horrid rest, I am feeling better today. I mean, I still feel disgusting and flu-like, but markedly better. And after surviving a brush with H1N1 last November, this flu is like being whacked with a little baby wrecking ball instead of a really massive, taking-down-a-25-story-building kind of wrecking ball.

Needless to say, this whole being ill business meant that I didn't shower or change out my pjs today, much less wander around in the disgusting and entirely unseasonal weather taking pictures. I'm slightly sad about that since the snow is all wet and heavy. Perfect snowman snow. Pictures would have been fun. Anyway, these pictures are actually from Christmas a couple years ago. I went for a walk to the elementary school playground by my house on Christmas Day and the place was deserted. This is actually the school I went to from kindergarten to grade 6, so I've spent a lot of time on this playground. I'm willing to bet it would have looked relatively similar today. Well, minus the deserted part since I guess school is still in session. There is something wonderful about playgrounds. They always make me feel like a little kid. How cool would it be to take engagement photos in a playground? (yes there is a reason I am thinking about engagement photos, no it is not because I am engaged) I think my friends and I might have to visit some playgrounds this summer and take some photos. Sounds like fun.

Breath of Spring

The sun came out today, which was a lovely change after the grey skies, insane wind, and snow of the past few days. Tomorrow is supposed to be sunny and spring like as well so that's good. Apparently this a brief respite though since the snow is supposed to return on Tuesday. I know this is Edmonton, but couldn't it just rain instead? At least if it was raining it would still feel like spring. But snow, come on! I know I talk about the weather a lot, but Edmonton has ridiculous weather in the spring. Plus it has a major effect on my mood.

In honour of the breath of spring that we are getting, I bring you some pictures of flower buds. I can't wait to start seeing these guys out on the trees and in the gardens.

Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven't fallen asleep yet.

Sorry about being MIA this weekend. I was at my parents and I just don't spend as much time on the computer when I'm there. Probably because I don't have to use my computer to play music and therefore it is not always on. It just seems silly to have a stereo in my tiny dorm room when all of my music is on my computer anyway. I decided on Friday that even though I had monstrous amounts of homework to do on the weekend I needed to destress a bit. And that worked great Friday and Saturday. I got some research done on Friday and then headed to a Good Friday service with my family and got to catch up with some friends that I don't talk to nearly enough. Saturday I went for tea with three of my incredibly good friends and then we went to church in the evening and I came home and decided that it would be my day off so I just read The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker, which is positively beautiful. Books like that remind me why I love words so much. Sadly, this lovely, non-stressful weekend came to a crashing halt Sunday night when I suddenly ran headlong into the brick wall of end of the year stress. Cue the blind panic and the obsessive list-making and the desire to scream my head off. Actually, I was doing some Art History reading today and one on the images was Edvard Munch's The Scream and the textbook says this: "In the painting itself...the figure is on a bridge and the scream emanates from him. Although he vainly attempts to shut out its sound by covering his ears, the screm fills the landscape with clouds of 'actual blood'." Now, the last couple words are a quote from Munch himself and make a lot more sense when you read the whole section on the painting, but I won't subject you to that. Anyway, I read that and thought "how appropriate" given that I really would appreciate a good gut-wrenching, soul-cleansing scream right about now. I actually feel like this tiny little part of my brain is just constantly screaming for the last month or so of every semester and no matter how hard I try to shut it out I just keep hearing this panic-filled scream. Ah well.

Moving on from my stress to the lovely springy picture. It was actually a beautiful weekend weather-wise. It was a little bit cloudy and looked like it might rain (it didn't) on Saturday night, but otherwise it was lovely. I got to do my reading in the sunshine, which was lovely. I had to compete with the cats though since there is limited sunshiney real estate in the house. This picture is from a couple years ago and is of some of the flowers on one of our neighbour's trees. They have these three trees that are just beautiful in every season (I talked about them here). I'm excited to see them in bloom again. Pictures like this have the ability to make me pause, take a deep breath, and let a sense of calm wash over me, all of which are really good things at this time of year. I think it has to do with the lighting and the color and the fact that it's a flower...they all combine to whisper "spring is coming" and that lifts my spirits.

Sunshine on My Shoulders

Today actually felt like spring, which was absolutely lovely after the snow of the past week. The sun came out and I even walked across to the school in just my tshirt without freezing. It was one of those that puts the song "Sunshine on My Shoulders" in my head, a smile on my face, and a sense of hope in my heart. Normally I wax poetic about fall and am rather disparaging about spring, but there is something about spring this year that just feels like such a relief. Does anyone else feel that way? It is as if some giant burden has been lifted off my chest every time the sun decides to show its face.

This picture is from last summer and evokes lazy days of hanging out with friends, eating picnics, and lounging on the grass. Ah, how I wish I was doing that instead of working like a mad woman on the papers that are due in the next few days. It's supposed to be lovely this week and I think that will make the copious amounts of homework I have quite a bit more bearable.

To See Heaven in a Wild Flower

To see the world in a grain of sand,

And heaven in a wild flower,

To hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

- from "Augeries of Innocence" by William Blake

Welcome to spring! Spring officially began at 11:34am today. While this doesn't actually guarantee nice weather (there's still snow in the forecast for Edmonton), it does bring with it a sense of hope. Winter must end eventually and we have crosed the line into the "sooner" rather than "later" category. Plus, there is now more and more daylight and that always brightens my spirits.

I took this picture in the Muttart Conservatory on Canada Day last summer. I thought it was an appropriate first day of spring picture. The promise of new life in the buds, the flowery-ness, the pretty color...I really enjoy this picture.

As for the poem that I've titled the post after, the first stanza of Blake's "Augeries of Innocence" is beautiful and seems so appropriate for this image. In some sense, I feel like this stanza also captrues one of the things that fascinates me the most about photography: the ability to look at things closely and in new ways and through this to see beauty and significance in the smallest things and moments.