I’ve always thought of algorithms as those sneaky things that monitor my every move online. Oh, it’s for a noble purpose – to filter the information and conveniently present the most relevant material, right? There’s no denying it’s easier than ever to find answers to burning questions like, “Who invented ice cream?” or “How old…
Today’s sunshine is a welcome sight for winter-weary eyes. A delicate hoarfrost coats every deciduous branch, transforming our side yard into an enchanted silver forest. Under the cerulean sky, ice diamonds glint, randomly scattered across a royal mantle of snow. There’s no denying the glory of winter, even one as long and harsh as this…
Snow settles like psalmson the cathedral of pines,each flake a whispered prayerin winter’s deep silence. Through frosted windowpanesI watch the sacred dance –crystalline choreographyof mercy falling soft and slow. The evergreens bowbeneath their white vestments,patient bearers of winter’s weight,keeping faithful vigil in the cold. And somewhere beneaththis blanket of grace,dormant seeds waitin their earthen chapel,…
There’s an old French saying: Pas de soleil, pas d’esprit. (Everything sounds pretty in French.) It translates – no sunshine, no spirit. To that I would add, No–vember. Another spectacular fall day unfolds outside my window. Fluffy white clouds float through a cerulean sky like sailing ships on the Caribbean. Magnificently coloured leaves rustle in…
Winter has arrived. The trees in the little park that I visited frequently and enjoyed all summer long stand naked now, their bare arms stretched out as though they are mourning the colourful leaves that left them. These leaves, after their summer lustre and brilliance of fall, now lie as a soggy mass on the…
They’ve been dangling for weeks. If it was up to me, I’d have been on them in January, but the boss says it is better to keep ladder jobs until the end of winter. No point in slipping when you don’t have to. Still, all those forgotten strings of lights in the park are looking…
God scatters leaves / the way my grandchildren scatter / their drawings. / Too intent on creating to pause, / they make another / and another.
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