Today

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of allnothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e. cummings

Simply Saturday: The Olympic Torch

 

Someone I know has been chosen to carry the Olympic Torch as it passes our way today.  I get emotional every time I think about it.  So we’ll be bundling up and heading out this morning to cheer her on for her 300-metre portion of the relay across Canada.  Then I think we’re going to go get our Christmas tree!  Hope you all have a great Saturday too!

Edited to add: here’s an example of what was happening not long ago as the Olympic torch made its way through the province of Quebec before arriving in Ottawa. Watch for the nuns in habits of days-gone-by in a horse-drawn buggy! The landscape is gorgeous, and emotions ran high. One man said (in English) that his heart was so full there was no way to describe it. Another man said (in French) that his heart felt like it was going to explode with joy, and a young woman said (in French) that she was so happy to be alive at this moment.

Simply Saturday: Things Gotta Change

Every morning when I turn on my computer, my homepage says:

Sympatico.ca -  Where Canadians start their day

Catchy, I suppose.  Sad, really.

Let’s start our day with prayer, my fellow Canadians.  I promise it will give you a whole different perspective on those headlines you’re confronted with every morning.

Artwork:  “Dawn”, by Tom Thomson (Group of Seven)

Reluctant To Be Gone

Autumn Closing (Bliss Carman)

The show is over, and the leafy tent
All gold and crimson where the sunlight lingered
Through the slow afternoon, is coming down.
The bittersweet is scarlet on the bough
Reluctant to be gone, though frosts have strewn
Patins of glory on the forest trails,
While tatters of torn splendour go to feed
The smoky bonfires in the village street.
What singer pipes the closing autumn hush
With surest note of cheer in all the wild?
A dauntless minstrel of the changing year,
Chickadee of the wilderness! He knows
What sweetness gathers in the winter’s heart,
What saving oracles the North Wind sings.

Simply Saturday: Time for Joy

I slept and dreamt that life was joy.
I awoke and saw that life was service.
I acted and behold, service was joy.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.

(Rabindranath Tagore, 1861 – 1941)