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Nothing is as black and white as it seems,

If the world seems drab,

Color it,

A picture can paint a thousand words.

 

2023, Welcome to another colorful year!

 

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

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Many people like to romanticize the good old days – truth is times were hard back then.  When my Mother was a little girl, her family lived on the CC Ranch southwest of Nanton, Alberta.  The Ranch, situated on Willow Creek was silhouetted by the wild and beautiful Rocky Mountains. The land was filled with bush and farther in towards the mountain was thick timber.  Visitors to the ranch were a rarity. Her writing tells of a time not so long ago when many people still relied on horsepower, grit and man’s best friend to survive.  With that being said, I hope you enjoy the following story based in the wild and untamed Alberta Foothills that she loved:

Dawg

By: J.V. Andrus  

Slowly across the top of a hazy hill came a weary rider pushing along a small, shaggy herd of long horns.  A white dog followed on the heels of the rider. Occasionally from behind, the white dog eased up alongside the long horns to press curious calves back into the herd then he’d fall back into line with the dozing rider.  The little group descended the hill down into a small valley lush with a carpet of thick green grass. 

This was as good a place as any to spend a hot afternoon, the rider thought as he eased himself out of the saddle.  He loosened the cinch, dropped the bridle reins and leaned back against the trunk of a huge tree whose branches draped low over the mouth of a stream that bubbled around a rock bank nearby. 

Through half closed eyes he surveyed his herd. 

After drinking from the stream the long horns began to graze from the thick green grass of the flat valley and began picking their way along the low lying hills.

A few feet away, the white dog lay panting; his long tongue lulled out from the side of his mouth and from the end of it dripped saliva.  His huge soft brown eyes held the man’s gaze; ever so gently, his tail swayed back and forth.

Without uttering a word, the puncher butted a cigarette which had been hanging from the corner of his lips and eased down into the warm sunshine.  With the heat of the sun now on him, he slept. (more…)

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Baby, it’s cold outside!

It’s the end of November and it is -13 degrees Celsius (12.2 Fahrenheit). The wind has been blowing with gusts of 42 km (27 mph) and higher so it feels like -23C (-9.4 F).  It’s so frigid that I am unable to think.  Perhaps, I have frozen my brain…

How does a Canadian prevent brain freeze in the winter?

 

Word of the Day – Toque

              /tōk/

Canadian definition: 

A close-fitting knitted hat, often with a tassel or pom-pom on the crown.

People also ask

How do you use it in a sentence?

I will use it in a sentence so that you can both remember what it is and how to pronounce it.

“It’s so cold outside, that I toque a wool cap and put it on my head.”

And, that my friend’s is also how a Canadian prevents brain freeze in the winter!

Stay warm!      

 

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

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A pale dawn arises,

Snow falls,

Sullen shadows cascade across the land,

Images cold against glittering drifts,

A terrain flash-frozen,

No layers of warmth will cushion heartaches pain,

In winter,

When the wind bites,

Nostalgia quietly visits.

 

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

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It has taken me some time to silence the thoughts of others and cipher through their parables and codes.

Social media is inundated with an extraordinary amount of negativity.  Many comments are meant to debilitate the vitality of opponents who dare think outside of the box.  It is easy to attack someone whom you cannot see. 

It is also easier to control those whose faces are covered. It removes the aspects of humanism.  Covering ones nose and mouth deprives the brain of oxygen and weakens soundness of mind.

I suspect the past few years has done irreparable damage to human kind.

(I can still feel the agony of those who withheld their screams of terror and disbelief until their eyes deadened and their hearts hardened.)

It’s easier to follow the masses than it is to stand alone. 

Fear can be a strict task master. It drives groups together but it can also break them apart.

Many people gave up. 

Others allowed themselves to become disabled through the pressure tactics forced upon them. Hypnotized, they consumed propaganda spoon fed to them by daily dose of dishonesty and negativity.   They became the fanatical converts who threatened non-believers. Non-believers were ostracized and pushed into seclusion.

There are many fanatics today that seek continued control over the populous.  They have a surplus of information ordained to frighten the weak into a continued life of subservience. 

They want the masses to move through life like robots – zombies with dead eyes, stiff movements and no heart because when you stunt growth or imagination, there is no individuality – no freedom.  This is called censorship. 

What they do not know is that you cannot cripple the heart or mind of an artist! 

The individual pain each person endures throughout life is precisely the gold that shines through an entrapped mindset to create an artist.  Seclusion is all that is needed to break free of the trap.  When one enters the silence, true beauty is created.  This beauty is art.

Art means something different to everyone.  It is a distinct experience distinguished by you alone. Art heals crippled minds, broken hearts and beckons to the individual in each of us, bringing hope.  

You cannot censor hope!

Hope is a light engrained so deeply within the Universe that death cannot even snuff it out.

Artists know this secret.

 They are able to read between the lines. 

They are the truth seekers.

They are the free-thinkers fanatics want to silence.

You cannot cripple an artist, excluding them or forcing them into silence is a gift. 

Silence is where an artist goes to create beauty.  

We can always use more of them – so please, censor away – for in the end, it will be the artist’s who heal the world with their beautiful stories.

 

Remember:

“Those who speak in parables and code harbour great secrets.”

 

 

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

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Beware,

When the veil thins,

On ‘All Hallows Eve,’

The Pumkin Patch comes alive!

Happy Halloween!

 

 

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

 

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Today, I sat in my rocking chair on the porch with my two trusty dogs at my side, soaked up the rays of the autumn sun and listened to the crickets sing.

When nature brings you bliss, the world’s woes drift away…

Give yourself permission to relax.

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

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There is a warm autumn breeze; I sit beneath the trees and watch as colored leaves fall earthward.

The trunk of the tree I am sitting under is strong; its roots are spread wide and deep.  Yet, the tree is flexible and is able to bend when times get turbulent. That is why this tree has survived its many years on earth.

The tree’s large branches reach heavenward.  Some of the branches are barren having lost their leaves. Still, other branches are alive with color. The leaves on those branches are preparing to make their descent but for the moment, they are full of life and enhance the world with their beauty.

I notice the leaves of this tree do not fight their ending – they have lived their life to the fullest – so, they simply let go and float gently earthward as if they are two stepping in time to a slow waltz. They dance, twirl and float earthward where they join other leaves, those that fell before them.  The fallen leaves cushion the new arrivals.  Their landing is soft, gentle. Each leaf is reunited happily with those that fell before them – these are their fallen family and friends.

Those leaves that remain high in the branches shiver with excitement and celebrate the life of the leaves that fell before them.  They whisper to the fallen in the soft breeze, “We are in death, even as we live.”

Realization dawns on me, I am sitting beneath the family tree. The tree has been softening my sadness – my grief.  It has not only been comforting me with beauty and dance but sharing ancestral wisdom as it welcomes another extremely important leaf home. 

Celebrate life with every breath you take,

We both live and die in every moment,

Life is colorful,

Enjoy it,

Take comfort in the dance of the falling leaves,

Remember those who went before you,

They are never truly gone,

The circle of life is never-ending.

 

Gone but not forgotten…

“Falling Leaves,” is in memory of my Dad: 

Franklin J. AndrusMay 28, 1938 – October 10, 2022

 

 

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

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Turkey

Feeling a little bit like a turkey lately?

It’s alright to be a turkey.

Feel free to gobble up the day!

Happy Thanksgiving, Canada!

October 10th, 2022

 

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

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The mission is murder. 

The buzz word is fly!

In the name of fair play, I did warn them.  I said, “If you don’t leave this premises, you will die! This is not your home. You are not allowed to gather here!”

But, they cannot help themselves. 

It seems they have invited swarms more. The house is a buzz of activity.  I am not as hospitable as they have assumed.  They have over-stayed their welcome and have gotten on my last nerve.

They are pests. Pests that like to do the backstroke in my morning coffee or drown in it. They bug me, these uninvited guests. They steal the very food from my plate – pests. Their flying buddies like to swan dive into my hair or fly up my nose. They don’t understand the word, ‘No!’ It amuses these pests to touch my body with their creepy little insect feelers. They won’t stop.  It gives them a buzz then they get high! They just won’t stop irritating me, even going as far as landing on my hands as I type this!

Enough! 

The mission is now murder!

Fly swatter in hand, I am in full stealth mode.  My trusty cat is assisting me in stalking the many-eyed prey! It seems that they have pestered her beyond her limits as well.  She alerts me to their presence with her surreptitious cat call.

The flies think they will out smart me by camouflaging themselves on dark furniture or hiding in plain sight.  I suppose they assume they can out maneuver me since they have thousands of watchful eyes observing my every move.

 “Wrong!”

The swat team and I have taken down a number of assailants.  Their bodies are piling up!  Some of the fly survivors are conducting forensics on the dead or perhaps they are cannibals foraging on their own kind. 

They get the smack down.  At times, it’s a smorgasbord; multiple bodies with one swat or a two for one deal – a regular kill pattern for this experienced swat team.

It’s war. We have no mercy, the pests were forewarned!

Finally, after an hour of stalking and murdering flies, it has gone deathly quiet.  The pests that are left have gone underground or into cracks or crevices. They are difficult to find. 

But, I am smarter than a fly. I will patiently outwit them.

I only need to wait until the time is right before I raid their fly encampments.  For now though, the swat team has further business to take care of.  Death is cumbersome and we must dispose of the multitude of fly corpses before their living relatives feel the sting of the upcoming raid. There will be more bodies. The remains will be disposed of.  This is not a game. This is war; I must take time to plan the next siege on these pests before the next swarm appears.  These pests have eyes everywhere.  I dare not rest, the swat team and I need to plan and perhaps rally more troops.

In the meantime, if any of you have had the intention of visiting in the form of an insect or let’s say; a fly on the wall; beware – my buzz word this season is, ‘Fly,’ and I’m on a murder mission.

All other company is welcome! Please feel free to bring your own swatter! Be prepared to raid flying pests when necessity warrants.

 

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

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