60. I Love ... Willows

Especially the weeping ones

that bend over a river.

They are mysterious and

as if they are hiding something
or protecting
something.

They are enhanted.

Enchanting.

They are grand and huge and ancient.

They cast immense shade 

that gives refuge

from the heat

to a host of creatures.

Shelter for the spirit.

Willows say

'Summer'

to me.

They say picnics.

They say 'Sit by the river.'
Quietly.
Restfully.

When we moved to the farm there was 

something 

in the field that barely stood taller than the grass.

Brian cut around it

and we watched it grow

into a tree.

For many years I wrapped it in plastic guards,

painted it with tar trying to save it

from the ravage of the donkeys.
It has grown inspite of them.

It's huge now,

happy that we gave it a pond.

Happy to shelter our

grandbabes.

It's not weeping
It's
will-ing.

59. I Love ... the smell of poplar leaves rotting

It's starts just a touch before autumn.

They are the first leaf that comes down here.

They want to rush the summer 

out the door.

Before I am ready;

before I even have time to consider that 

autumn is approaching,

I catch a fleeting whiff.

An earthy musk with a touch of spice.

It hits me unsuspectingly.

It stops me in my tracks.

Stops me
 to breathe it in

deeply.

I stop
 even if I'm rushing.

Rot
is too ugly a word.

Evolve.

Back to the Earth.

58. l Love ... watching my husband work when he loves what he's doing.

I love the way he attacks a mission

with such focus.

Such intensity.

I love to see that

drive and passion.

I love it when he has something

that excites him,

that he is please to tackle.

He walks with such purpose.

A lively step.

A young step.

He doesn't waver from the task 

at hand.

He'll get up at the break of day.

He'll work long into the night.

He will ignore 

any and all distractions.

Including eating.

He will accomplish a great deal.

Perhaps something that is only important

to him,

but he feels good about it.

I love to see him 

proud

of what he has done.

I love that look on his face

that makes him seem

like a

little boy.

57. I Love ... when an new idea comes to me.

"I love to see you with a mission."

my husband said to me one day,

"You walk with a spring in your step."

I do.

I have a spring in my

heart

as well.

I get downright

jubulant,

considering

all kinds of possibilities.

I have no space,

no time,

to carry

unnecessary

burdens.

They are instantly

replaced with

visions and plans

to create

something.

56. I Love ... a fragrance in Newfoundland that I cannot name

The first time I smelled it
I stopped dead in my tracks.

The first thing that came to me is
'this is what Heaven smells like'.

It was totally heavenly;
beyond description.

I couldn't find a way to describe it.

It came in wafts.
It was not constant.
It came gentle upon the breeze.

I sniffed at all the plants
like an old hound.

It was so fleeting.
I was desperate to get it back
so I'd know that it wasn't
a fragment of my imagination.

I asked 80 year old Harvey,
whose land I had been walking on.
'What is that smell up there?'
'Can't say.'
he replied.

'Can't say.'
because he doesn't know
or it's too big of a
secret?

55. I Love ... a Dog at My Feet

Especially

when they lay their head

on your foot

or lean their whole body

up against your leg,

being ever-so 

non-challant

but saying -

"Don't think you're going to

sneak way 

without me.

I'll notice."

Head between the paws;

so patient.

On guard.

A noise and it's

head's up!

Vigilant.

Oh - it's nothing - 

back down

with a thump

and a groan.

My friend,

my loyal,

patient friend;

it's so good,

so good

to have you.

54. I Love ... being lulled to sleep by my husband's voice.

I don't sleep well

sometimes.

Sometimes 

it takes me hours to fall asleep.

Sometimes

sleep never comes all night.

And so to me those

rare moments

when I can actually

feel myself

slipping

between the two worlds;

drifting off

ever so gently

is a gift.

I am usually just

awake

then asleep.

Or not.

My favourite transition

is to hear Brian's voice -

talking, telling me something

that he probably thinks is important

but I think is lulling.

That itself is rare

considering ninety-nine percent of the time

he is fast asleep for hours

before I make my way to bed.