This began as folklore, morphed into a short story then into a poem so in a way this has been a shared journey that is far from complete.

At Dusk 

Bernice walks where no one goes

away from trucks that roar and spit out gravel

along weed clogged prairie trails with pungent scent of skunk and badger.

Daytime haze gives way to dusk


dust motes hang suspended in the moist air.

‘Round the bluff come horse and rider

the man’s head bowed upon his chest.

The horse drags hooves through thick powdery dirt

Closer now, she smells smoke and sweat of bygone battles

could touch his blood encrusted side, trace his wounds with her fingers.

The rider turns, stares down at her

his obsidian eyes gleam with fury and pain.

She wants to run but cannot move.

They turn off the trail parting the tall weeds

that slap the horses rump.

His head is a dark spot weaving through the field,

Bernice watches as they disappear into the twilight.
Shared Journeys




Feline logic dictates that you must

Leave white fur on my black sweaters

Upend defenceless house plants just for spite

Find my can of tuna on the kitchen counter

Fling cat litter helter skelter

Yet curl up by my side, yawn and sleep the sleep of innocents




Squinting in the sun

your hand lifts to shield your pale blue eyes.

You smile, tentative at first, then stretches wide.

Freckles sprinkle across your upturned nose.

Your laugh: a silvery chime that speaks of endless summer days, picnics and popsicles.