Countless Blessings

Ann, who lives way up in Canada, the country that is my own, a country that French Canadian singer and poet Gilles Vigneault calls Winter, tells us how to heal our broken places.  


My country is not a country, it's winter

My garden is not a garden, it's a plain

My road is not a road, it's snow

My country is not a country, it's winter


In the white ceremony

In which the wind to snow marries

In this country of powdery

My father had his house built

And I am going to be faithful

To his way, to his model

The friends room will be such

That we will come from the other seasons

To build next to it


My country is not a country, it's winter

My chorus is not a chorus, it's a gust

My house is not a house, it's the cold

My country is not a country, it's winter


In my great solitary country

I scream before I shut myself up

To all men of the Earth

My house is your house

Between these four falls of ice

I take my time and my space

To make the fire and the place

For all the humans at the horizon

And humans are of my race


My country is not a country, it's winter

My garden is not a garden, it's a plain

My road is not a road, it's snow

My country is not a country, it's winter


My country is not a country, it's the other side

Of a country that was nor country nor homeland

My song is not a song, it's my life

It's for you that I want to posess my winters

                                                             Gilles Vigneault

 Ann, who takes her time and her space to make the fire and the place for all the humans at the horizon, urges us to give thanks.

Let me pick up were I left and count the blessings of this day.

 ~31 This post and this one, about what happens when people care.

~32 Beautiful Elizabeth, her faith and her trust that defies all human reason.

~33 Warm tears tickling down my face as I read about wondrous love.

~34 The opportunity to give a sick mama a break.

~35 Round, rosy cheeks.

~36 Pale heather blue cotton sweater, blue socks peeking out of black leather mary janes, moonstone earrings.

~37 Warn breeze

~38 As I was strolling down Ava down the dusty path, meeting the man in brown, in the big brown truck, who gave me a brown box full of Moomintrolls books (just like Lydia), shh....  it's a secret gift for Friday's birthday boy. 

~39 Buttery butterfly cookie with purple sprinkles, lovingly made by auntie Sara to delight Maddie.

~40 Wings to fly.  Pink ones are the best, and even better if they have real feathers. Makes my heart flyes to see a little one twirling in them.