1. May our trails be crooked, winding, lonesome,
    dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.

    May our rivers flow without end,
    meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells,
    past temples and castles and poets’ towers.

    May we travel into the deep vast unknown
    where something strange and more beautiful
    and more full of wonder than our deepest dreams waits for us –
    beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.

    May it be so.

    — adapted from words by Edward Abbey
  2. When I came to the Creek, and knew the old grove and farmhouse at once as home, there was some terror, such as one feels in the first recognition of a human love, for the joining of person to place, as of person to person, is a commitment to shared sorrow, even as to shared joy.
    — Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
  3. The morrow was a bright September morn;
    The earth was beautiful as if newborn;
    There was nameless splendor everywhere,
    That wild exhilaration in the air,
    Which makes the passers in the city street
    Congratulate each other as they meet.
    — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American poet
  4. Water is marvelously expressive stuff, full of deep meaning to all humankind, perhaps the most beautifully symbolic stuff of all. The water of life, the water of baptism, the water that cleanses and heals, the water that breaks down and destroys, the water that lifts us and floats us when we come aground, the water that churns and pounds us out of our complacency and into awareness; the water of swamps and sloughs and soggy despond; the roiling sea-ice powerfully sculpting a coast; soft groundwater, tenderly upwelling to green a barren landscape; the singing chuckle of a creek, the roar of a fall, the calm assurance of a great river, the crash of a sea swell, the quiet privacy of fog, rain washing or slashing or downpouring or falling gentle as a leaf; the soft healing, or bitter springing, or joyful welling of salt tears… . [all praise the glory of water].
    — Molly Wolf
  5. September Days…

    September Days…

    “September days have the warmth of summer in their briefer hours, but in their lengthening evenings a prophetic breath of autumn.” Rowland E. Robinson

    Starting a new ministry with the Unitarian Congregation in Mississauga, I am very much looking forward to the fall with all the excitement of meeting everyone. leading worship in a new space, and learning how to be in covenant with the community.…

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  6. It seems no bad thing to have a soul of yellow daffodils in lines across a hilltop.
    — Sue Hubbell, A Book of Bees
  7. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune.
    — Walt Whitman
  8. All Summer is a Temple

    All Summer is a Temple


    It has been a quiet peaceful summer, a respite before I begin a full time ministry in Mississauga.  Spending my days at home, for all the attention I have offered this small piece of the world, I still managed to miss so much of the abounding life that surrounds my home.  Mary Oliver says it best.

    Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith

    Every summer
    I listen and look
    under the sun’s…

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  9. It is good to have an end to journey toward, but it is the journey that matters in the end.
    — Ursula Le Guin
  10. The shortest distance between a human being and Truth is a story.
    — Antony de Mello
  11. Speaking not metaphorically but fairly literally, it seems that people who can see their life as a story, with a plot or at least narrative continuity (possibly even a happy ending), get along okay, while people who lose that narrative sense are in a lot of trouble, maybe to the point of psychopathy. I’m not talking about personal control, being the author of your fate, because in cultures where individuals don’t control their lives much at all, people can be totally content with the cultural narrative, and live it beautifully. Even if the story itself is stupid or psychopathic, like the war story or the white-supremacy story, if we believe in it and it makes some sense to us we get along, we stay alive, we even think we know what we’re doing.
    — Ursula Le Guin
  12. I should ask that …. each child in the world be [given] a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life.
    — Rachel Carson
  13. Winter Thanks

    Winter Thanks

    This endless winter cold is making me very grateful for all the technology, food and activities that keep me warm. I am grudgingly grateful, but grateful none the less for our gas fireplace, electric stove, and lovely hot water. This poem sums it up.

    Winter Thanks

    by Marcus Jackson

    To the furnace—tall, steel rectangle
    containing a flawless flame.
    To heat

    gliding through ducts, our babies

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  14. I like to use the word “isumataq.’ It’s of eastern [Inuit] dialect and refers to the storyteller, meaning ‘the person who creates the atmosphere in which wisdom reveals itself.’ I think that’s the writer’s job. It’s not to be brilliant, or to be the person who always knows, but…to be the one who recognizes the patterns that remind us of our obligations and our dreams.
    — Barry Lopez
  15. It is the tenderness that breaks our hearts. The loveliness that leaves us stranded on the shore, watching the boats sail away. It is the sweetness that makes us want to reach out and touch the soft skin of another person. And it is the grace that comes to us, undeserving though we may be.
    — Robert Goolrick from The End of the World as We Know It