TENDER ESCAPES
An Inventory of Solace
Do our senses become heightened in volatile times?
Lately I've been desperate to quiet my nerves, to banish the frustration and anxiety of a world that feels increasingly unstable. I know I'm not alone in this.
When I'm too frazzled to read, I wander my beloved East Van neighbourhood—past charming homes and well-tended gardens—and lose myself in birdsong. When I'm lucky enough to be invited, I retreat to equally beloved Bowen Island.
TENDER ESCAPES
His voice,
mellifluous.
A ginger, purring.
Her voice, humming.
Snaking ivy.
Scarlet hibiscus tea.
Sandalwood.
Blasting Satie while sewing.
Dust-patinaed landscape paintings.
Brie-induced comas.
Old wool sweaters.
Fresh lace panties.
Sharp nibs.
Harmonizing.
Urban forest birdsong.
Garden strolling.
Blousy blushing roses.
Hands that grasp.
Cold nuzzling dog noses.
Eurasian dove calls.
Billowing thistledown winds.
Wooing.
Warbling.
Pacific salt air.
Onyx ovals
of volcanic stone.
Velvety hooting.
Dizzying constellations.
A walk
in relentless rain
until restored enough
for re-entry.
