After several weeks of becalmed water, Lake Erie is stirring. Thursday a wild wind came roaring through, stripping the fern-like leaves off the honey locust tree, so it looks like someone shook out a big bag salad all over my front lawn and parking area. The wind itself came at an angle I hadn’t seen before, making whitecaps that rolled over perpendicular to the shore, with very little splashing onto the breakwall! It all seemed rather strange. Then last night, band after band of heavy thundershowers moved through the area, and I lay in bed in the dark with that Joni Mitchell song, Carey, going through my head: The wind is in from Africa, last night I couldn’t sleep. This morning, the fields behind the houses across the road are all flooded, but as I’m writing this, the sun is out, and a perfect amount of wind is blowing off the lake, refreshing everything—at least for now. Tomorrow (in addition to being Fathers Day) is also the Summer Solstice. It’s an anniversary of sorts for me. It was June 21, 2005 (the solstice that day, too) that I got on the plane in Calgary with two large suitcases and two medium pet carriers (with two cats in each) bound for Windsor, Ontario, and my new little lake house. I’ve been very fortunate to live in some beautiful places, and while I still miss the West and the mountains, life with one of the Great Lakes at my backyard has a romance all its own. I’ve been delighted to share some of that with you out there in Blogland. The Cloud Messenger is nearly a year old, too (July 1st). So here I a few photos of my home in Alberta’s High Country, and my new one in Ontario—low country from the looks of all that standing water.
Gallery top to bottom: 1) flooded fields 2) Lake Erie afternoon storm 3) honey locust leaves 4) My acreage in High Country, view from the deck 5) view from the hill (click to enlarge)
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.