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Alberta is dry.

A heat dome has settled over our province. 

The prairie has been an arid desert.

Dust hangs in the air and silt blows through any cracks and crevices of the house to rest indoors on my furniture.

Our northern forests are ablaze.

In the news, no one reports on the arson which caused this fiery tragedy up north, on any charges laid or on the perpetrator(s) set free until their court date arrives. In the midst political campaigns, they’d rather call it global warming than tell the truth.  It’s just more of the same political rhetoric.

Meanwhile, fire fighters are busy trying to fight fires and farmers are busy trying to seed their crops.  Cattlemen and women are busy tending to their cow/calf operations. People are busy living their lives both in rural and urban areas.  At this point, most Albertans have probably already decided on which candidate they will vote for and don’t care about two women fighting over who will reign as Premier in our province. But, the political force with their mudslinging and bluster has left a foul odor in the air.

Today, a barbarous cold wind blew in from the north.  They call the wind, Tramontane.

With flying hooves, Tramontane carried smoke from the north, across central Alberta and delivered it south.

The smell of smoke and fire troll mingles with dust to smudge our province of negativity. Once the foul political odor is removed from the air, I’m sure it will rain.

Tramontane, the north wind, promises a change in weather. 

Around here, all of the crops are in the ground.  They would definitely benefit from some moisture as would the rest of our province.

Alberta needs rain.

And, when it does, I’m going to dance like nobody’s watching!

Hang on a second, let me correct that, why wait?

I’m going to go out in that smudgy, windy air and do a rain dance with Tramontane like no one is watching right now!

I hope you’ll join with me in the dance where ever you reside.  The more the merrier! Let’s make it rain, just dance!

The North winds moral lesson is that kind and gentle persuasion always wins over force and bluster.

(May whomever aspires to reign over our province in the future consider the above lesson.)

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

 

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Tramontane (/trəˈmɒnteɪn/ trə-MON-tayn)[a] is a classical name for a northern wind. The exact form of the name and precise direction varies from country to country. The word came to English from Italian tramontana, which developed from Latin trānsmontānus (trāns- + montānus), “beyond/across the mountains”,[1][2][3] referring to the Alps in the North of Italy. The word has other non-wind-related senses: it can refer to anything that comes from, or anyone who lives on, the other side of mountains, or even more generally, anything seen as foreign, strange, or even barbarous.
The journey of “tramontane” into English starts in Latin and begins with the coming together of the prefix trans-, meaning “across” or “beyond,” and montanus, meaning “of a mountain.”

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Off the beaten path a rolling stone gathers no moss.  The roll of its movement is like poetry in motion.

At a bridge too far, footsteps linger on a path.

A witness bearer is observing nature.

A rock falls, succumbs to the pressure and breaks in half. It will never be the same. Even pieced together, it will not ever be whole.  There will always be light shining through its center. 

Iridescent and beautiful, a shine traverses the in-between, always seeing both sides of an equation.

Never judging, never choosing which side is better, the lights only purpose; quiet acceptance.

It glistens and flows silently becoming the glue which clings to each half of a shattered foundation then with quiet support, it centers the mass – makes it stronger through the light bond of its touch and creates something new.

                  

Like a bridge too far reaching across a cut-face, light connects both sides.

Some rock hard,  stone like individuals previously stuck begin to cross over from the precipice of the cut-face.  They courageously take small steps until gravity intervenes and they roll smoothly across. Having bridged the gap they celebrate their new found strength.

Fear paralyzes the forward motion of others. Their burden is heavy. They must remain unmoving and solid.

“Even rocks can crack,” they say sadly.

This a dark fact rarely mentioned – cracking is forbidden. It’s taboo to admit weakness or even create an awareness of its existence because one would then notice a concrete failure in their foundation. 

Instead of rounded thoughts and wheels of motion to roll ahead, they form blocks. They see how easy blocks are to stack.  They gauge progress by building barriers instead of bridges. They notice how they feel stuck in the mire and begin to sink as they fall into the pressure of its darkness and crack.

But, they don’t notice the beauty, movement or force of the light connecting the pulsing broken shards of a stone and how it has formed others into glorious pieces of art.  Or, the peace that washes over a shattered, broken work in progress when it transforms through an acceptance of nature and, moves on; forever fragmented but beautifully whole; perfect while they dance and bond with the light of the in-between at the cut-face near the bridge too far.  Free.

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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Three weeks ago, a foggy mist of milk white hid the horizon. It was still cold. Spring was here but the tendrils of winter were loath to release their taunting grip on the prairie.

Many migrating birds were overhead.  I knew this because I could hear them.

I always tend to marvel at the ability of migratory birds especially, their instinctual ability to navigate blindly through inclement weather and unseen territory while they fly toward their new destinations.

I heard familiar honking in the distance. The recognizable sound was that of the Canadian Geese as they arrived in droves while fog shrouded the land. Other flocks of migratory birds were also flying in. Their types were harder to discern with listening ears because the opaque wall inhibited any clear view of the arriving birds and muffled the sounds of their songs.

The misty cold weather was surreal. Unending fog can be depressing to some but I enjoy the damp, cool weather and find the wall of cloudy white strangely comforting, even safe. I like the idea of disappearing behind a veil of white.  It’s private. I especially like walking in the fog, mainly because I am obliged to use my other senses and am forced to pay closer attention to what’s in my immediate circle during the hours before the fog relents to the rays of the mid-day sun.

But, that day, I was imagining what it would be like to spread open the white wall of fog with my hands as if it were curtains and step through it.  I was wondering if it would it be a clear day or magical world on the other side of the curtains when a knock interrupted my whimsy.

Knock, knock.

Knock.

“What’s knocking at my front door, it’s not like a knocking that I’ve heard before,” I wondered. (more…)

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Drone

When life drones on,

Spread your wings and fly.

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

 

 

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As winter loosens her icy grip,

I find myself looking forward to greener pastures, wild roses and the sound of water…

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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“Sometimes, it’s hard to do the right thing.”

I’ve heard this comment several times in the recent past but it always surprises me! 

Is our society falling short on integrity?

Integrity helps us to do the right thing.

 

Integrity

Choosing courage over comfort;

Choosing what is right over what is fun, or easy;

And choosing to practice our values rather than simply professing them.

                                                                                                       Brene Brown

 

Integrity requires self-awareness, self-control and commitment to upholding one’s values and principles when in the face of temptation or pressure – even when no one is watching.

It is choosing your thoughts and actions based on your principled values rather than personal gain.  People of integrity do not hide their reactions or opinions.  They do not manipulate others through deception, peer pressure, guilt or shame, and they do not pretend.

Integrity is not about being popular.  It may mean extreme unpopularity because, you did the ‘right thing,’ regardless of popular opinion – integrity does take courage.  Doing the right thing regardless of popular opinion can cost you family, friends, your livelihood or worse case scenario, your life. 

Having integrity does not mean that you will never make mistakes.  It does however mean that you have learned valuable life lessons from your mistakes and taken honest measures to correct them.  In other words, you have gained some wisdom from your mistakes and evolved into a better person.

Integrity happens when inner-wisdom matches the decisions we make and act upon.

“Sometimes, it’s hard to do the right thing.”

Is it?  Or, have we just become too afraid to do the right thing? If so, what does this say about the society we live in? Corruption lacks integrity.

Using integrity is about being able to live with your own conscience.

When you are true to yourself,  it’s easy to do the right thing. 

Have courage.

 

Remember:  Using integrity is a reward! 

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

 

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Piglet:  “How do you spell love?”

 

Pooh:  “You don’t spell it, you feel it.”

 

 

Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

 

           

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Freedom Convoy – First year Anniversary

I am honoring those who continue to stand up for freedom and peace against

machiavellian political practices.

My ‘tinfoil’ hat’s off to you!

Happy Anniversary!

You make me proud to be Canadian!  Roll on! Honk, Honk

 

To see my original story from one year ago, please click on the link below:

Eighteen Wheels of Freedom

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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A piercing scream cut through the quiet night, ricocheted off concrete walls and echoed onto the city street.  A hollow thud then gasp of air followed.  It was the woman’s last breath.

A dark figure loomed over the body.

Bobby-Joe McKintock had just frightened his nosey, old neighbor to death; quite by accident, when in jest, he’d jumped out of the shadows.

A sinister laugh caromed through the night.  Bobby-Joe glanced around then disappeared into the darkness before the backlash of what he’d done hit him.

Quiet fell upon the city street.  The silence was deafening.

Sounds of sirens and gunshots ensued.

It was a ricochet that ended him.

As it turns out, the rebound effect is no joking matter!

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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