The Dead

The day of the dead
Dawned brilliant sunshine
The blue sky set free
Above the autumnal hues
The drenched earth downpour
Lying now in puddles
As we walk the lake shore
Inhaling the crisp November air.

Out of the corner of my eye
I catch the glimpse of a tree
It stopped suddenly it seems
Like a dancer with curved arms
Lean and graceful
The dawn had caught it in mid-flight
And it froze in haste to await the nightfall
For it's next move.

It is the leaves fallen
Exposing branches as we
Will one day be stripped
All pretenses gone
In the blink of an eye or
A half turned glance
We catch a glimpse
To the world beyond.

In solemn silence we tread
The leaves festival track
Surrounded by green forest bending
Humble unto the season
Brown bracken the dying time.

I am a part of the world
I was born into and yet
I often wonder if in the future
My real work begins like
Those in the past that sowed
Often with tears
Never opening their eyes upon
Completion of their task
Believing their contribution
A thread bound tightly in
This frail fabric of existence.

The wind comes rushing now
Through our little yard
The yellow maple leaves
Caught up with haste
Tossed in circular motions
Higher into the open sky
Their movement a melody
Sung by the boisterous wind
How cheerful they seem
Set free to roll around the hills
Like children let out to play
On this the month of the dead.

Football and the Willows

When I was younger I never thought of myself as a writer as I have no talent for writing fiction. My attempts at prose usually broke down after a few paragraphs. However, when cleaning up some old papers the other day I found this short story I had written Feb 28, 1978.   I thought it rang true about being sixteen. 


   It was a lousy idea in the first place. As much as I was a fan of our football team, I really didn't know any of the players very well and some of their fans even less. But I was determined to go to this game as it was a make or break it one and I felt the team fires burning in my bones, or so I thought.
   Penticton was thirty miles away so the team was traveling by bus along with the cheerleaders, and the rest were obliged to find their own ways. I hung around as everyone was gathering at the school parking lot after dinner, looking for a friendly grade twelve who would take an extra passenger.
    It was dark earlier now, soon to be November, and the evening air was tinged with the smell of burning leaves. I hesitated. Maybe it was a nice evening for a walk. It felt like too much to summon up the courage to ask and as I shrank back into the shadows a kind voice came from behind me asking,  "Do you need a ride?"
I immediately regained my composure and turned to answer Ellen who always seemed to take an older girl's interest in me.
   "Yes, I said"
   "Then let's go. Doug has room"
   He sure did. There was just Ellen and me. Maybe Ellen liked him but felt the need of another person. Anyway, the arrangement seemed to suit us all and I settled into the back seat.
   There wasn't much to see, just occasional twinkling lights and since Doug and Ellen seemed interested in their own conversation, I was left to my own thoughts. They weren't many. I kept asking myself what I thought I was doing, maybe my English essay needed retouching and then in some quiet moment I knew that I was probably more interested in team player number eleven than the game. Good heavens. Why was I pursuing him I wondered. I had only met him briefly at summer camp, a nervous, high-strung character and I certainly wasn't the rock of Gibraltar. Maybe I thought I was. Oh, well, this was the important football game ....my thoughts were interrupted by Doug calling to me over his shoulder
   "Look under the front seat, Marnie There's a bag, a little one. Could you get it for me?"
   "Sure" I replied as I fumbled around in the dark and at last drew out a not so little plastic bag and handed it to him.
   "Thanks" he said and turning to Ellen he winked and said he'd managed to get some that morning.
   Some of what I asked myself.
   "Here", he said again and I was handed back the bag."Hide it, I wouldn't want the cops to find it if we get stopped" he said.
   Good heavens, I thought. Could it be? Oh, no, it is! What would my father say if we were caught and I shrank back into the car seat extremely nervous. What had I done? Here I was in the middle of nowhere expected to stand guard over a bag of marijuana and a fair sized one too.
   I held my breath, metaphorically speaking, until the car was safely parked near the playing field. I hopped out with barely a civil word of thanks and hurried to find some familiar faces of classmates.
   The game had already begun, an eerie playing of shadows darting under the humming outdoor field lights. I could hear the curses of the players as they slipped on the muddy turf.
   It was a bad game. The slippery field slowed the play down and a lot of our players got injured. At one point more people were watching the outskirts of the park where the kids from the rival schools fought and beat on each other. I felt sick. We lost the game completely and now our team was eliminated from the play offs.
   "Are you coming Marnie" called Ellen from an already running car.
   To say the least it was a gloomy ride home. I didn't even mind sharing the car with our illegal stowaway.
   Now what, I thought, and joined in the the general lamentations. I felt part of the conversation and the return ride home was passed quietly in conversing. If only the evening had ended thus!
   Back at the school when the equipment was put away there were immediate plans for a party.
   "Meet you at the Willows" I heard someone call out as they left.
   "Where are the Willows?" I asked Ellen.
   "On the outskirts of Kelowna, we usually meet there." Aha, I thought picturing a nice old type cafe, a haunting ground for the gang. Maybe I could go. Here's my chance to talk to #11. He can't ignore me now. Maybe he will be glad to have some company.
   Hurriedly I ran over to the phone and after waiting my turn I dialed home.
   "Carol" I said "We lost the game. Some of us want to go to the Willows for awhile to wind down. Can I go?
   "Sure" she said "but don't be late.
   "Oh, no, " I said. "I won't."
   Putting down the phone I roared outside, saw my object of pursuit and ran over.
 " Hey, Clarke, can I come with you? "
   "Oh, Hi" he said hesitating to answer. "Sure, I guess. How are you? I haven't seen you for awhile." He didn't add that he had been avoiding me. He'd been rashly romantic the past summer. I suppose he figured he could write all those gushy letters to me as long as I was at a distance. My sudden decision to come to school in Kelowna had fixed that. I think he felt surrounded and wisely laid low all fall. So much for a someone, somewhere far away, to dream about when things got dull. Here I was in living color!
   Again he hesitated, fumbling nervously for a cigarette. "I'm in a bad mood" he said, "but come on" and he headed for the parking lot. I watched his thin retreating figure, the glow of his cigarette in the darkness, and gritting my teeth I ran after him.
   Here I go again, I thought, tagging along in typical little sister style.
   I found myself jammed in a car with nine other people. No one said much. There was a certain deadly mood about them all. I didn't know anyone and kept quiet. We soon left the lights of the city and turned down a windy country road. It was dark and only a few farm house lights glowed. Here I go again I thought. A few twinkling lights and a strange road. With one final turn we bumped down to the end of a road then into a small clearing surrounded by trees. We jerked to a stop.
   "Where are we ?" I asked Clarke.
   "The Willows!"
   "The Willows" I repeated very carefully. Oh, what was I going to say to Carol.
   Doors opened, I stumbled out in the general rush for fresh air and stood beside the car blinking until my eyes became accustomed to the dark. Everyone had seemed to disappear.
   "Have a beer" Clarke said pulling one out of a case he held under his arm. And opening it he handed me one.
   "Thanks" and we stood drinking in silence, leaning against the car.
   Gradually the night noises became audible. I could hear the trickling of a creek nearby, the woosh of automobiles passing by on the road we'd come off and the murmured conversation coming from the edge of the clearing. Clarke lit a cigarette. I could hear him inhaling, the glowing ember flaring up and then dulling.
   Suddenly more cars drove towards us and people burst out of them, talking loudly, calling to each other, clinking bottles together and laughing.
   I shivered. Clarke ground his cigarette out  and roughly grabbed my arm, leading me to the group of noisy partiers. He dropped my arm, and muttering something disappeared towards a white van. I stood unnoticed and thankful to be so. I could feel my face reddening as anger began throbbing inside of me. I paced away from everyone, gulped my beer and felt my ire rising.
  Damn him, I thought. Damn them all. I stamped my foot. Misery swept over me, then anger, I flung  my empty bottle into the bushes and stamped towards the white van. I paused, then taking a deep breath I knocked on the door.
   It opened and the light went on. A bleary pair of eyes looked out. 'Yeah?"
   "Is Clarke there?' I asked.
   "Yah, sure, come on in."
   I determinedly sat down beside Clarke. He grinned lazily at me and as if to explain my presence he said 'Uh, this is Marnie" I gradually became aware of the pairs of eyes acknowledging his words. Everyone was silent. What was it, I thought and squirmed a little.
   "Hey," Clarke stuttered over towards me. "Hey, have you ever toked?"
   "Toked? No", I said and knew it was the wrong thing to have said.
   "Hey, you guys did you hear that? We've got someone here who's never smoked and he started drunkenly groping for another beer.
   "Roll one up, Gerry" he hiccuped over his shoulder and I felt trapped. Trapped like an animal in a cave, part of a circle that was slowly closing in on me.
   Clarke, I cried inside, don't be this way. You're not this ugly, are you? Are you? and no-one answered, not even myself
   Gerry carefully rolled a joint. Conversation resumed. And slowly the match lit up the "white cigarette" and one by one it was passed along.
   My throat went dry. "Hey, Clarke," I said, "Let me have a beer. I gulped some down and then it was my turn. I trembled and took the joint.
"Breathe her in and hold it" said Gerry.
   I did and closed my eyes hoping everything would go away. Clarke took it from me and with the ease of much competence toked and passed it on. Round and round it went, smoke filling the air, heavy and acrid.
   I looked around. A strange euphoria seemed to fill the van, and they were no longer wild eyed. Now only bleary, bleary bleary and turning sideways I passed out.
   'Hey, kid" and someone was shaking me. A door opened and Clarke helped me stumble from the van. The cold night air hit my face and I gasped, breathing long deep breathes.
   "Lets walk"  and together we put one foot in front of the other. I shook my head and waited for things to focus right.
   He led me over to a log and we sat down. I looked at him, watching the shadows on his face. He was at ease, a little tired, and the hassles of the evening weren't haunting him anymore. I sighed. He looked very gentle. Maybe I'm the ugly one I thought and miserably leaned against him.
   "Clarke?
   "Yeah?"
   "I think I should go home".
   "Yeah." But we didn't move.
   Honk. Honk. And suddenly car lights swept down the dirt road from the highway. "Hey, you dirty freaks" a voice yelled and I felt everyone spring to alert.
   "It's the Kelowna High gang. They don't love us very much, damn greasers" and with that Clarke grabbed my hand and we headed for the nearest car. Engines started up, people ran from every direction and shouts ensured between the rival schools.
   "Hey, Immaculata lost, eh. Toooo baaad.  The voice sent shivers up my spine. I pictured well greased figures with chains.
   Hurry, I thought, and jammed into the white van
   I could hear our kids hassling the greasers and without looking back we wheeled out onto the highway and everyone started to laugh and laugh and laugh. It echoed in my ears as we floated down the highway.
   "Where do you live?" called Gerry from the front seat. As directed he pulled up in front of a tidy residential dwelling and I issued forth and waved them to the end of the block, tires squealing in the 2 a. m. morning.
   "Bye", I said  "Bye," towards the retreating van and the streets swallowed it from my sight. I sighed as I turned towards the house.
   Well, stupid, I said to myself, if these eyes of yours ever focus it won't be on another football game.

In Kaslo Africa

In memory of Fr. Herman Engberink SMA  Dec 16,1919- Oct 3, 2010

 It has been many years
Since we set foot in this little town
Its access a winding road
Narrow at times in the driving
We have traveled these past five weeks
On this our last visit
We pray for you, dear friend
In this tiny mission church
With tears and memories
The hard times of those years ago
When your kindness kept us hopeful
Now your passing from this life
Sends grace and peace swirling
In this sunlit October time.

In October the sunlight is warm
Until suddenly the shadows go chasing
Up the tall mountains across the lake
With autumnal golds fading
In the evening light outside this church
The chill in the breeze
Quick to descend as we watch
The sun retreat for another day.

I remember the times we went together
Across this valley
Wild places you loved with company
Explored with great adventure
Oh missionary to Africa
All those years
Whose love affair with the
Dark continent began
When you were six
How you labored long
To build the Faith into vibrant form
Walking miles to serve and
Call into being the hungry souls
You found.


And when at last you came to our shores
To shepherd in a wilderness
More trees than people
More doubt than faith
You gave us your last working years
A warm beacon of truth
A kind heart with firm intention
A mind that served the living Tradition
Not afraid of wolves
Brave unto old age and sorely missed
When you returned
Home to Holland
To wind down these last ten years
Still at last
You who loved the open spaces
Eagerly explored the beauty
And sat with us in this little town
Down to dinner one autumn
Such a feast we shared that day.

We have traveled here today
With a priest from Africa
A shining star of his culture
Gracing the mystery of Faith
We treasure this short time with him
A gift happily bestowed
Yet again.

We sit in the same restaurant
As all those years ago
Your presence now unseen
But keenly felt
Your death from a good life spent
Shines on this present time
Love passes onward in journey
Vibrant in the evenings time
And even in the darkness
When we step into the night
The wind blows cold off the lake
 Moonlight filling the starry sky
Africa lives within our hearts
Warm with the exchange across
Timeless miles to go.

The Wind at Will

A song for fra Matthieu

 Alas, the North wind has returned
With it's chill in the air
Freezing suddenly all kindness
As the time for the South wind
Marks in departure
Whose warmth has beckoned us
Into clear sun light sparkling
Dappled on the waters
With rays falling in beams
Through the greyness of clouds
Filled with deep silence
All growth strong and outward
Living creatures we have become
One to another
The flowering warmth in
Human compassion
Our hearts safe to wear
Upon our sleeves.

The North wind has returned
My limbs begin to stiffen
Turning into the stone cold statue
Alone on a city street
Midst the busyness of traffic
Blowing wind swept in green park lands
The sunset barely reflected
On the polished shell that now descends.

Do not be sad my heart for
Inside the sparks fly upward
From the hearth fire in my soul
Burning deep with friendly glow
Even above the mountains
Where the wind moves mysteriously.

When the North wind will finally
Depart to be no more
Has been written in
A book I cannot read
Present time for future need
Still I give thanks
My voice quiet within
The South wind's warmth that
Binds us as friends
Like the stars that shine
Each unto the other
In distant brightness
Across the evening sky.

St. Teresa Slips Through Time

Pope Gregory XIII declared
A new calendar in 1582
To bring Easter into alignment
With nature's own sense of timings
To begin October 4th of that year
Eleven days would disappear
At least in Catholic countries
The Protestants crying foul
Until another route brought
Them into planetary position
The Orthodox remaining
Behind in Julian fashion.

It was late on Oct 4th 1582
Or early the next morning
St. Teresa said to her Beloved
"it is time to move on"
And bidding farewell she
Went forth to meet Him
Whom she had always sought
Time now leaps forth with her passage
October 15th having just begun.

Ingenious she was to slip between
These calendar changes we have now
In the twinkling of the old into new
The fourth followed by the fifteenth
Henceforth to be known as her feastday
As I kick through the leaves
This October 5th, golden now
The season releasing its leafy garments
Strewn in almost reckless abandon
On the street as my footsteps
Loud in the dryness of the leaves
To the church as darkness gently falls
The red and blue sanctuary lamps
Flicker in the solemn time spent

I follow Teresa in my thoughts, she
My mentor from beginning times
Guiding my steps along the way
That has often been perilous and steep
I cheer her passage between time's reckoning
Looking up into the clear night sky
In the silent homeward walk
A shooting star across my horizon
Heading west bright and swift
I sense her spirit waving in the glimpse
From beyond this vale of time.

The Neighbourhood for Tea

The highway was not so busy then
In my little world of very young
Perhaps a mile long of neighbourhood
On the northern slope running
The water's western arm
Flowing down from the big lake
In search of the Columbia River's
Private entrance to the sea.

Our little farm of sixteen acres
Soon dotted with flowers made
My mother's preference for color
Fade the market garden that was there
It did not suit her sensibilities with
Three teen age sons
And my small self
The cow and the chickens too.
There was always time to walk
Along that highway stretch
Clinging tightly to her hand
Buffeted by the wind from the big trucks
As we went to visit the inhabitants
Some elderly with no family by
Retired and always ready
To serve a cup of tea.

In a tiny cabin lived an elderly couple
Where we sat together next
To the big grandfather clock
Dominating the tiny abode with pompous gongs
The husband I did not then understand
Nursing a wife whose mind
Had wandered far away
His tenderness toward her
And us when my father was away
Working in the bush
He would visit and chat
While my mother ironed and I
Who sometimes could be rude
Would be corrected by him
Much to my chagrin.

It was he who was central
To a little drama when I was four or so
I could not resist
The candy in the Safeway store in town
Eye level and available in such
Colors and pretty wrappings
I lied when we got home
Saying our elderly friend
Had made a gift
After all, it fit my expectations
The fib was badly told
I was in trouble on several fronts
My mother for stealing
Our friend for the lying implication
My penance being to return
The stolen loot to the big store
A checkout lady who gravely received
Candy and apology in return
For my tearful humiliation and remorse.


The house to the east
The Anglican vicarage
Warmly welcomed by the
Elderly pair with an unhappy son
Whose gentle kindness
Puzzled and widened my
View of the religious world.

To the west the little family
On one acre of green
Their teen-age daughter
Fan of the fifties hit parade
Introduced music with social attitudes
Made me want to sing
If only You are My Sunshine.

Across the highway from the acre
A beautiful sandy point
Whose cabins were summer busy
Empty in winter
Then there would be time for tea
I would watch the ducks out on the lake
Savor the sweets as adult
Conversation drifted outside my thoughts
And I pondered the mystery of how
Our hostess managed to have blue hair.

At the farthest west along
The road of my little world
A family of boys, interesting
But only from a safe distance
They too in service of summer folk
The beaches busy
The waterway filled with boats
While my mother and I
Many Sunday afternoons
Would visit for tea and cakes
A lady who with her brother
Lived in a quaint little house
Filled with beautiful furniture from
A past big prairie city life
The ticking of the mantle clock
And the easy chair near the picture window
Filled with a big tree just outside
Where she sat and watched
The bluejay and squirrel dodge and weave
For the peanuts to be fought over
And the scoldings that took place each time.

In those early years in life
Only one other girl lived close by
A year older and looked up to
We would visit her grandparents farm
Just up the hillside where
The pig smell dominated
The corner that took the turn towards home
The rabbits that nibbled constantly
Gazing out from their cages with their big eyes
Which made me incapable of enjoying
Them on a dinner plate.

It was her aunt
Small and bent over
Who babysat my time
When parental absence needed help
She lived up on the hill above
In an orchard of apple trees
Tiny house, silent husband
Soon to be gone into time
When only the tall grass would
Wave in the wind colored with sunlight
Where I would go and sit in the fragrant field
Serenaded by the grasshoppers
In sudden happiness overwhelmed
By this small world that was mine.

When Thoughts Turn Around

These are the days when I feel
My life a prison sentence
With bars across the windows
Looking up unto gray walls
Cold stones blackened by wind
Beaten by the rain's harsh lashes
Within my cell confined
The loneliness of existence for
So many souls I sense near by
Burdened by the whims of fortune
Their happiness under lock and key
Despair the weapon of the prison guards
That mock at hope or delight
Pin down with constant attack
This exile life of man. 

It is only a tiny breeze
A small fire burning
Endurance unto another time
When the gray sky has passed
The burdens slipping from all
Wounded shoulders
The torture of this frail human race
No longer within reach
As I grow thin and transparent
Enough to pass between
The stones of  prison walls.