Simple Ways

 Greenfields, near Stow on the Wold, UK

Gillian Cornwall, September, 2015.

It's as simple as the way a line of trees, or a stone wall, separates two fields along a rolling, verdant landscape where, midway up a rise, the line is accentuated by a perfectly shaped English oak caught in one's sites for a perfect moment as one rolls past on the train, delighting in a field dotted with a hundred head of sheep, white clouds of wool upon verdant pasture. 

The scene is redolent of our centuries old, British wool industry, steeped in tradition (and urine - read on); back to medieval times, when it was big business. The wool business was in place long before the industrial revolution and machinery that toiled with people controlling the machinery, instead of people toiling directly - like the poor Fuller whose job it was to place the wool in a barrel of stale urine and to spend all day trampling on the wool to produce softer cloth. Not fresh pee, mind you, it had to be stale.... who figured that out?... A reminder of harder, but more simple times when need equaled make, find, do or do without. When I say simpler, it is not that I think the life of someone who trampled urine-soaked wool all day was easy, rather that the line between need and resource was less convoluted.

Perhaps this is what it is all about for me: a reminder of a time when our struggles were focused on the basic needs of living.

After a month back in my ancestral home of England last year, I came back to this place, this Canada, this land which was stolen by my European ancestors, this land on which I have lived my life. I have worked here and made it my home. Six months ago I was laid off from what I thought was a secure job of twenty years. 

For a long time I have been focusing on the way I live my life and how I can make it easier and better but that breed of ease has changed these past six months. It has been replaced with thoughts of bridging the gap between need and attainment with fewer conductors and referees in the way and more certain footing while working to keep my ship afloat. I must focus again on the toil and the desired result: keeping a door between me and the bedlam of society.

Above all, I wish for time and simplicity: the right to stop and enjoy the beauty of the earth - to nurture it so it is not destroyed through greed and a perceived shorter path to simplicity for those who wield the most money and the most perceived power - razing all that stands in their way as they stuff the fruits of the world down their insatiable, selfish gobs.

I have been without a safe home in my distant past. It was embarrassing and hard and I kept it hidden from my friends for quite some time. I am too past my prime to deal with that nonsense again.

I cope with the fear of being homeless through memories of my homeland: the simple line between two fields, two fields that have remained the same since anyone can remember - something preserved, that I hope won't change with a gust of the wind or the swipe of a power-hungry, selfish, fear-filled, political ogre ... Because that bad experience would "Trump" most of the others... Couldn't help myself there - sorry. 

I miss those fields and the villages, where people still know one another and maybe even care for one another. I know I am creating an unrealistic picture in my mind, but it is what I need to do right now. I need to believe that somewhere on this earth, we are doing better at stopping to care for one another and light the way for one another when darkness prevails. 

Mostly, I miss my cousin and I am eternally grateful to her for the loving care she gave me while with her. She restored my health and my faith in the loving care we can share with one another. I have never in my life been so safe or well taken care of as I was with her for that month. It healed me and restored me. I hope she gives me opportunity to give that gift to her one day! 

The thing is, if we all care for one another - it could be okay. If I, if all of us, could just let go of our fear in the guise of safety, if we rediscover and trust our instincts, we may learn to do as well as the wild creatures of the Earth who have retained their instinct, their connection to the universe, without question or thought. They simply know - because they allow themselves to do so. They are directly involved in the equation of their needs as it relates to their fulfillment - individually and as groups. The only thing that has tampered with their well-being is humanity.

We humans have lost the plot and unless we start to pay attention from our hearts, from our very cellular network that connects us to all, well, quite frankly, we are hopping into the toilet and reaching for the flush. Does a flush trump a Trump?

Have a great week. I send you love and peaceful wishes for simplicity. Thanks for taking the time and patience to read this through the flu haze in which it was written....

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2, 2016

Dedicated to my cousin, in gratitude and admiration.

I love you, Kaz!

Sheep - Wigginton, Herts, UK

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

Expectations

 

Boadicea, The Warrior Queen - City of Westminster, England

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

I am re-posting an edited version of the original. It's timely and I think it is something to which we can all relate and take opportunity to re-shape in our lives. 

So, "Expectations meet Joy and Desire; now could the three of you all try to get along?"

Why the blazes am I heading down this path on an otherwise peaceful Sunday morning? Well, I am heading down this path because it came to me and because I believe I can offer some peaceful thoughts on the subject.

It seems to me that expectations are kind of tied up with opinions. We have our own, which may or may not have been influenced by our parents, our history, our spouse, media and so on. We also have the expectations and opinions that come to us quite directly in the now, like missiles.

I've been thinking about the height, depth and breadth of my self-expectations and how often I place them onto others. I am ridiculous for doing this. How many times do I talk about all of us walking our own paths in our own ways? Hypocrisy! Hypocrisy! 

Oh well, I am pleased to discover this about myself. As I continue to unpack it, I realize that my high self-expectations were seeded in my childhood. My understanding of one of my parents was that it was imperative to succeed - that there was no room for accident nor failure. Accident and failure resulted in anger, discipline and those, oh so awful, looks of disappointment. How could I not carry those expectations forward into my adulthood when they were as deep in my being as grain is to oak. The wonderful thing is that when we grow up, if we take the time to look at this stuff, with or without the help of psychology professionals, we get to untie the net and make it into something that fits us now or cast it off entirely. 

We have the opportunity to re-frame expectations as goals - if we wish. We have the capacity to try, to fail, to learn and grow. We have the capacity to acknowledge the same need in those who surround us. I would guess that everyone has felt like a failure in front of someone and, I know from personal experience, it is a wonderful feeling when someone stands by you through your errors and says, "Hey, it's okay. You can do it again. I'm here and I love you whether you succeed this time or whether you need to try again." 

What is horrific is to create expectations of someone and then systematically peel away their tools and set up barriers to their success. If you are in that situation, you are best to trade in your chips and leave the table for a gamble with better odds. Some people aren't able to be direct or clear and will set you up for failure because it is the only path they can handle for themselves. Remember that this is likely not about you; rather, someone's inability to engage safely and kindly in difficult conversations. 

Try to remember, it is the path and not the destination. It is the relationships and the journey that make up the food of our lives. Whenever we reach the end of the road, do we want to be thinking, "Darn it, I wish I had done more - I wish I had at least tried"? Have fun on the journey. Don't worry too much if something breaks or fails. Just learn from it and move on. We are all perfect in our paths as long as we proceed at whatever speed and in whatever way works for us. Unless you are a surgeon ...hmm, maybe get good at it first, really good, and then try. I do not envy them their need for absolute accuracy. I am sure there are other situations and careers to which this applies - automotive brake repair perhaps?

Enjoy the journey as best you can, my peeps. I really don't know if we get another crack at this whole life thing, but I'm not much of a gambler and, lately, my body and soul are far too eroded by those who are filled with fear (including myself at times) pushing me down and holding me down to drown. 

I am resurfacing, slowly, for harm has made me weak, but arise I will, as sure as the sun to another day. There may be clouds; it may be raining, but I am still here and I will continue to rise as long as there is breath in my lungs and a beat in my heart.  Is that not enough to expect of any of us, after all?

-Gillian Cornwall, c. April 17, 2016

Nelson, atop his column, Trafalgar Square, UK

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2016

Woman Warrior

My mother and me, when I was six or seven

Photo by: My Dad - Brian Cornwall, c. 1967

I am a woman. I am proud of my woman’s body. I do not identify by gender, rather by my biology. I do not understand the purpose of gender expectations so I do not acknowledge a gender identity. I have been identified with assorted words that mean I don’t fit the sexual orientation mainstream culture. I carry experiences that most of you will never be able to fathom with respect to how I have been treated because of how I look and who I have loved intimately.

I spent decades unable to marry the people I love. Relationships that crossed borders had to end as there was no legal way to remain together in one country. I have been held back from advancement in some jobs and not offered other jobs for which I was perfectly qualified. Others have had their children taken away from them and many of us have been told we weren’t fit parents to adopt. I have been beaten in the streets for how I look or for holding hands or kissing my partner in public. Others have had their families abandon them – ashamed – choosing their religion over their children. I have been abducted and assaulted by taxi drivers when I tried to stay safe by not walking to a bar or home from one because those men knew what I needed to make me “normal.” Shame and fear often kept me from reporting these crimes.

I have been eroded by heteronormative society for decades. Some of us could not cope – some took their lives while others of us struggled with a variety of addictions, seeking any kind of control or relief from pain and isolation. Decades ago there were far fewer opportunities to find counsellors who understood issues facing lesbians. Some of us remain, standing, eroded, exhausted in fact, still trying to be heard and have these wrongs acknowledged, awaiting some sort of help or compensation for horrible acts perpetrated against us. We are weary. We do not need to hear “but isn’t it better now?”

It is better now. We are pleased about that, but it does not take away that which we have experienced. We have suffered greatly though our bodies, our hearts and minds as a result of systemic hate – much of which still exists but has gone underground, leaching up in ways that are more difficult to see or prove. The comments are whispered or couched more carefully. We are still being assaulted and cat-called in the streets by people who are terrified of difference and choose fight over flight – we are women, after all, and popular culture continues to portray us as disposable.

I am here to say, I will not stop pointing at the elephant in the room. I will not stop ensuring people are aware of what has happened and the damage that has been done. I am proud to have survived, unapologetic for the scars I bear. I am a warrior. I am more than the sum of my sexual orientation and the losses and wins I have known because of it. I will not be silenced while I have air to breath and I will not be your token queer to mark that you are "okay with the gay."

My name is Gillian. The name means youthful. I still have joy in my heart and love to give. I am from a family of warriors, of Cornwall and Jay and, while I am the first generation for a long time not to actually go to war in uniform, I have fought, strong and proud, for as long as I can remember. The Cornwall battle cry is said to have been, "La Vie Durante" translated "During Life".

May we all find peace in who we are as individuals; thus, find peace with one another: peace, respect and celebration of difference.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. February 28, 2016

Self Portrait

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

The Gift of Evergreen

 Evergreen Bough

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2013

Moments

peaceful moments

life-filled

senses heightened

moments.

I walk among these winter woods

of evergreen,

every green.

From western winds, a carpet laid

in pine and spruce and cedar 

with every footfall fresh.

Branches gathered

fingers stuck with pine sap scent

this air freshener

the real McCoy.

Intertwining perfect circles

still damp

with the whisper

of the first snow fallen.

Rose hips of red

Snowberry bunches

of winter white

all bound in birch

a ribbon found.

Nature's gift

a perfect lift

for spirits fading

running ragged

the season nears.

I hang this wreath

upon your door

The symbol, strength

The circle, friends

forevermore.

-Gillian Cornwall, November 22, 2015

Re-posted from the original, December 8, 2013

On Campus

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2013

Moments - stories

A moment in The Crown and Cushion Hotel

Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire, UK

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

Moments - they are happening all over the world to everyone all the time. The picture above represents one I had recently. It was brief. It was magical. It was fun. Here is the back story: 

I have some wonderful friends here is Victoria, BC who own an antique and second-hand furniture and collectibles shop. They are my friends. I adore them. They are kind, warm, fair people with good hearts and awesome humour. Their shop is called Charmaine's Past and Present. Check it out next time you are on Fort Street in downtown Victoria. I've had many awesome moments there - just hanging out, chatting and, yes, even occasionally buying something despite being a bit of a minimalist when it comes to possessions). Anyway, one day before I left for the UK, I stopped into Charmaine's to visit before I left the country for a month. I noticed a horse brass / bottle opener for The Crown and Cushion near the front desk and noted it to be from Oxfordshire. I mentioned to Glenn and Charmaine that I would be going through Oxfordshire at least once on my adventures and wouldn't it be fun to take this with me and bring it back to the inn from whence it had come across one country, a vast ocean, all the way across our enormous continent, with a skip across the Pacific to land on Vancouver Island! It's the kind of thing I think about ...perhaps not common or normal, but I am rarely accused of being "normal." We agreed that this was a fine idea and they kindly gave it to me and simply asked me to get a picture and let them know how it went. 

I packed it in my bag and took it on a couple of aeroplane trips - back to the mainland and then back over the "pond" to the UK. Unpacking at my cousin's, I showed her the brass and told her this was a priority for me. As it turned out, we didn't have opportunity to go to Chipping Norton on our day to Oxford - one is limited by the clock in some instances - but, as it happened, my new friends, Richard and Carolyn, who I had never met before this trip, had very kindly agreed to pick me up and drive me to the Cotswolds with them on another of my adventures (to not make this post 8 miles long, I'll leave that story for another time). This meant, I realized quite happily after checking my wonderful maps.me app, that we would be passing through Chipping Norton on our way to Stow on the Wold - you have to love these place names! 

I felt a bit funny asking Richard and Carolyn to stop in Chipping Norton and even a bit more peculiar trying to explain to these folks that I HAD JUST MET that I wanted to drop off this horse brass, but there is something to be said for asking for what you want / need. Anyway, this is exactly what I did and they very kindly did stop and it was AMAZING. I sauntered into the Crown and Cushion on my own while my kind transporters and new friends went to find a place to park. As it turned out, the woman at the desk (I wish I could remember her name - I think it was Mary...) is the mother of the young man who runs the place and she was absolutely gobsmacked (as they say in the old country) with my story and what I had done. I had to repeat it once for her to absorb what this Canadian hurricane of a human was saying and another time to her son who had come out of his office to meet me.They were so thrilled, so touched and so delighted that someone would take the time to do this simple thing, to make a connection across over 7,565 km, over a simple inexpensive object that has now done more travelling than most people do in their lifetimes. 

A moment. Many hearts. A story. None of us know how the brass got to Victoria in the first place but now it has travelled back to where it came from however many years ago and I have met super cool people along the way and touched a heart or two by what turned out to be a simple act. The brass is likely hanging over that massive fireplace you can see in the background of the picture though they were concerned that someone might nick it and take it on another adventure. 

If you are ever passing through Chipping Norton and stop at the Crown and Cushion, be sure to stop in and mention the horse brass and this story. Maybe find a way of making a contact like this on your next trip. Don't be afraid. We are all connected by moments, by stories, by our love of the magic this world holds despite the violence and the threats of terror around the globe. Laugh, love and live on in the face of it, for love will win. Love always wins. 

With respect to everyone in war torn, terror-ridden nations around the world and the many moments of your lives, good and bad. Your stories are important. Write them down and share them because your love of your life will win and the pen will always be mightier than the sword. Know that there are myriad people around the globe, working for peace, for freedom, for love. Tell your stories. Send them out to the world by whatever means you can find. Let us connect through our humanity and our love for one another rather than rend ourselves to pieces in our differences. 

In this moment, may we each have a little peace. 

With love,

-Gillian Cornwall, c. November 15, 2015

My first view of York Minster - I hope I have captured the awe

I felt as I stood in front of this exceptionally beautiful building

York, UK

Gillian Cornwall, c. October,2015

Chat with a tree today.

Western Red Cedar by Gillian Cornwall, c.2005

Oil Pastel on Paper $900.00

22" x 30"

If you have a chance, go to a forest today and breathe deeply. Feel the life, the peace, the perfect gift of nature. Restore your soul with the elements that really matter in this moment - life, love, and peace. I'm re-posting this from last year because it feels like a good time for it. I hope it brightens your day. 

A naive poem follows. It is meant to carry you to a peaceful place, a remembrance of how it works when we stop and listen to all of life and that we are one, inextricably connected.

The Western Red Cedar

I'm a western red cedar 

thuja plicata

green perfect plaits 

well-organized leaves

'tree of life' 

arbor-vitae

for the next thousand years 
I will reach for the sky

My limbs droop downward 

in peaceful repose

while birds fly and sing 

from my tip to my toes

I spread my feet wide

for fear I may fall

though I suppose the fact is

I'll outlive you all

I live in a forest 

you may never find 

It's a place tucked away

on the outside of time

Far down below me 

'mid the moss and the ferns

One day I shall lay there 

my death bed I'll earn

As trees came before me

may I feed many more

In the depths of the rich 

thick, lush forest floor

Do not forget me 

I bring you your air

for the breathe of the forest 

Is the life we all share

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 4, 2014
Re-post, April 12, 2015

Cedar by the Lake

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2011

Hands Around the World

 

Toward the Olympic Range

Gillian Cornwall c. 2011

It really works. I probably shouldn't be surprised. I have made connections all over the world through new media, but this past week it has really hit home. Blogging, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, whatever your sharing tool of choice, it works. It brings hands together around the world. 

I do realize that the paragraph above is not ground-breaking information, but sometimes it's hard to know if the content is received at all or received well. It is easy to produce content (harder to produce good content) but difficult to know how widely and positively it is being received, understood and appreciated. Yes, we have analytics to measure reach and make some fact-based assessment of readership but that doesn't always give us the kind of feedback we desire. 

There is nothing that boosts a writer's spirit more than contact with one's readers, through comment, email or direct message. Even if that contact is a challenge, it's great to know that you are engaging with people - some who you know in real life and some you are meeting in cyber-space for the first time. 

Back on November 10, 2013 - just before Remembrance Day - I published a post entitled, Love and Molecules - Lest We Forget. It is the synopsis of the story of my mother's participation in the Second World War and her love of a pilot by the name of Richard N. Foster.

I won't tell the story again here. I'll let you have a look at that in your own time through the link in the previous paragraph. I had researched quite heavily into my mum's service at RAF Base Biggin Hill and into Richard's service in the British Air Force. It was difficult to find fact-based information and I am ever so grateful to all the people in the UK and France who dedicate all of their time outside of their day jobs to ensure those who served are remembered for their sacrifice. It is those people with whom I initially had contact for this project - sometimes they found me and sometimes I found them - reinforcing the impact of new media and the world as it exists with internet connectivity. 

The next aspect of engagement with this project was the response to that post back in 2013. I was astounded by the number of hits it received and by the heartfelt feedback. I had always hoped that I had the facts right and was doing justice to my mother's and Richard's past. 

Last week, the most phenomenal thing happened with respect to that post. Richard's nephew found it (and other sites to which I had added information) by Google searching "RN Foster" and he contacted me by email! I had no idea there were any living relatives to find. My searches in this regard had not come to fruition. Imagine my surprise, after my initial reaction thinking it was likely all spam and almost ignoring the emails and comments. It took a call from Richard's niece, before I could accept - they are real! They are descendants of one of Richard's siblings! I won't release their names as I haven't their permission but, suffice to say, there are 3 family members in total who contacted me in the past week. As if that weren't enough, Richard's niece lives a 30 minute drive from me and we had lunch together this past week and shared photos and stories! Uncanny! She knew my mother as well ("I called her Auntie Eunice"). She has Richard's smile.

All of this has brought me closer to Richard's and my mother's lives and verified everything I thought to be true about their relationship. Had he lived, everyone expected he and my mother would have married and I either wouldn't be here or I would be here in a different embodiment of myself! I wonder how different their lives would have been. It's mind-boggling to think of the possibilities and to think of how many lives, full of promise, were taken so early as a result of that war. We must never forget. 

Had I not written that piece, with the goal of honouring my mother, Richard, their service, and her lifelong commitment to her love for him - despite his physical absence and despite her marriage to my father which resulted in four children before their divorce - I never would have had this opportunity to continue this story and develop this bond with Richard's family. I feel somewhat inarticulate in describing it here; I am still absorbing the uniqueness of this opportunity. 

Reach out. Use your social media accounts to share your stories. Reach out, because you never know who has their ear to the ground, half way around the world, listening for your heartbeat across the sea, across time. You may never know the impact that acknowledging a tweet or commenting on something shared means to someone. Use these tools for good. Use these tools to reach out around the world in loving thought and action. 

I dedicate this post to Richard's family - who I feel are, in some way, my newly found family. Thank you for your interest and persistence and for helping me to remember why I do this and why I believe in the power of the internet and new media to heal the wounds to our world. 

With love to each of you.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. February 22, 2015.

Eunice Jay

Richard Foster

Flying Officer, Richard N Foster
Rest in Peace, Guidel Communal Cemetery
Morbihan, France
Picture taken by: Alain Octavie

Father's Day

The Cornwalls - circa 1964

Photographer Unknown

Ah, the joy of family photos -particularly those with small kids. I do not look happy. I can't recall this moment but I recall the feeling. 

There is Chris in the back left - he was a great brother and a dutiful son. I miss him. My dad was probably trying to make some kind of joke to get us all to be happy and laughing. Phil, my youngest brother on the bottom left was probably being imaginative and pretending he was launching us all into space or something.... My mum was likely being very proper and trying to simply get a nice family photo for our wall. As I said, I was probably sitting there bawling because, Bruce, my middle brother to my left in the picture was likely bugging me in some way or I was just cranky and tired. Who knows but, valiant effort photographer, valiant effort. 

Now that I am 52, I think back on my past in a different light than I did in my twenties and thirties and forties. Gad, I am aging -but it's better than the alternative! I still feel like the wild child I was at 19 ...some days.

Anyway, I think of my family life as a child differently now. Not just because I have had years and thousands and thousands of dollars of counselling but also because distance from my own childhood loans a different light to it all. My family life was tempestuous and brutal at times. Bad s--t happened. My dad and mum had issues that they both brought into the relationship long before we were twinkles in their eyes. They were folks with difficult pasts and little resource to resolve their own childhood traumas. I wish they had found the kind of amazing counselling that I managed to find for myself along the way. I would like to believe they did their best - even if some days their best was less than optimal. 

My father was abusive in different ways throughout his life. He grew up at the hands of an abuser and so the cycle carried on through him. I do not mean to say he was awful all the time. This is where, now, the child Gillian has healed (though the scars ache some days). I can remember the good stuff too. My dad was the guy who drove me to soccer every week and stayed silent to my mum after I was kicked in the teeth or dinged my head off the goal post. He knew I could tough it out and he didn't want her to stop me from playing. He saw my potential in sports and arts and supported my efforts and abilities. He didn't seem to want me to be a different person than who I was (and who I still am in many ways).

He was the one who supported me when I wanted the drum set for Christmas - though my mum put the kibosh on that one. Apparently drums weren't a ladylike choice of instrument in the sixties... He drove us all over North America on family vacations. He bought us treats. He got to be the good guy when my mum was mad at us. 

He did his best despite the errors he made in raising us on our paths to adulthood. I can't say that I've totally let it go because I know our potential as adults was impacted by the abuse. It takes something away from a person and it takes a very long time, if ever, to restore that sense of self-pride and ability. For many victims of abuse, you never get it back fully. You simply learn to be an advocate for goodness and understanding. You educate. You watch for it in younger folks and help them along their paths if you can. You show your scars and explain the road you have travelled. You use the lesson of your parents lives as your greatest inheritance. This is how the cycle is broken. This is how you learn to understand and, perhaps, forgive. You needn't forget. Remember your path. Remember the road you have travelled. Remember the good and the bad in the people who raised you. Allow yourself the time and the space required to heal. Forgive, if you can. 

The pain carried and doled out by others is not yours to carry forward through time. It's okay to put it down. You deserve to be joyful. If you have good memories of people who did bad things, that's okay. There are acts of kindness in each life. If you have not yet dealt with parental issues or abuse, please get help for yourself. You deserve to be unburdened and to find a life of joy. There are many resources available and your path is your path. You do not need to follow a prescribed path to wellness. Be kind and gentle with yourself. 

I wish I could travel back through time, to England, to the houses of my grandparents or their parents before them and provide a healing energy on those homes. I wish I could unravel that painful history and give my parents a better life. I'm grateful for the life they have given me and the opportunity to sit here today, to write this piece and share it with you. I hope they can see from beyond and know that I am sorry for their pain, that I understand and that I am well. 

Love heals. I breathe in the healing love of the world and return it to the world with my own breath exhaled. We are one. We are connected and together, we have all we need to heal and live well. 

On this Father's Day, I remember the guy who did his best and let him know, in the great beyond, that I am well. I am strong. I am grateful for my life. Thanks Dad.

-Gillian Cornwall, c.June 15, 2014

Summer in Ontario 

at one of the many lake resorts we were lucky enough to visit

Me, Phil and our Dad

circa 1966.

If you are being hurt by someone, there are resources to help you:

Victoria: 

Victoria Sexual Assault Centre: http://vsac.ca/

Canada:

Kids Help Phone: http://www.kidshelpphone.ca/teens/home/splash.aspx

Worldwide:

RAINN: https://rainn.org/get-help/sexual-assault-and-rape-international-resources

WHO: http://www.who.int/entity/en/

Heaven and Earth - Revisited

Bluebells - Victoria, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c.  April 2012

May, I taste the proximity of summer, all the while walking through the oaken wood, soaked knee-deep by thick, green grasses and bluebells. A narcissus bobs to the beat of my heart. It is here I unite with all of life, known and unknown, as I stretch into the unfathomable depth and breadth of the universe. Stars tickle my fingertips as they tattoo the universal truth upon my hands. 

"You are here," they pen upon me and I whisper my understanding as I bring my arms down to caress the Camas lily at my feet. It sparkles with dew and stardust. In this moment I need for nothing, in awe of the simple perfection of life. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 1, 2012.

 Narcissus - Victoria, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. April 2014

 Daffodil - Victoria, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. April 2014

Plenty

 The Treetops - Victoria, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2011

two birds top the pines

alight on the day

they sway

survey

below 

beyond

where to from here?

they chirp, they cheer

the world bends an ear

awaiting a hint

in the event

that they know 

a damn thing

when they sing

they swing, splay, stay

fly away

this thing

this life

it's enough

it's just fine

not to know

it's okay

it's okay

a breath

a breeze

this heart

this mind

this bird

this day

Gillian Cornwall, c. March 9, 2014.

  

West Coast Sunset - Victoria, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2012