No Idea

 This is a poetic version of the prologue from my book, you will find a strange new word in it mycorrhizal which is what the layer just under the surface that connects all the trees is called, I've also heard it called the Wide Wood Web. It is how they communicate and also helps them grow by bringing water and minerals to the trees as they need them. I planned this story to bring awareness of our need to care for our trees and other plants cause if they die we die. An educational version is also in the works. Read it and tell me what you think. All seven of you please. I want to make sure it can speak well. 🌲 When the Forest First Sang Before the first dawn brushed the sky with breath of gold the world lay still, a whisper waiting to be told From soil’s deep heart a shimmer stirred and rose a pulse of life where secret knowing flows The Guardian awoke in threads unseen a song of root and rain between Each droplet hummed a tender tone binding stone and seed as one From dar...

Turning 64 hits differently. It isn’t old and it isn’t young — it’s more like standing in a doorway with one hand on the past and one hand feeling around for the light switch of whatever comes next. And honestly the year between 64 and 65 comes with way more practical nonsense than anyone tells you about. It’s not just emotions. It’s paperwork and timelines and figuring out how to land on your feet when the government decides you’re now “officially” a senior. One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned this year is this: as soon as you turn 64, start your applications . If you are on Ontario Works or ODSP like I was, they cut off your benefits the moment you hit 65. You’ll get one final month after your birthday and then that’s it — no money coming in unless all your applications are already in process. And trust me, government drones move slower than winter molasses, so the sooner the better. That means filling out forms for Old Age Security (OAS) , Canada Pension Plan (CPP) and the Gua...

 The last couple of weeks have been a blur of creativity and caffeine as I bounce between Woulf’s Quest and the poetry anthology that keeps stealing my attention. On the Quest side we’ve been deep in world-building again tightening the canon polishing appendices and slowly shaping Act III so it breathes the way Air should. I swear every time I think we’re done another little detail taps my shoulder and says fix me next. And then there’s the poetry book which has taken on a life of its own. Some days it feels like excavation brushing dust off old feelings until a clear line appears. Other days it’s more like wrestling fog but in a good way. A handful of poems finally clicked into place including Heavy in the Soul and I’m starting to see how the whole collection might hold together. Heavy in the Soul I keep hearing that time waits for no one and I guess that includes me because nothing slows down not even when I’m falling behind If I want my life to mean something I have to p...