Vancouver

There's a beauty about this city.
The mountains rise.
The ocean turns.
The forests surround us
like ancient giants.
The skyline glows
against the evening sky.
Colors rise and bloom from the earth.
Rain washes the city's streets.

Peace settles over us.
Hands rebuild what has been destroyed.
Pride replaces chaos.

Our city.
Our beauty.
Our love.

Depression

I have battled the beast for years. It sleeps like a monster under my bed, waiting for me to give in to it. When I do, it is all-consuming. I sleep. I eat. I bathe. Nothing keeps me from it. It is like a film that sticks to my skin, my heart, my mind. No one can wash it away. Nothing keeps it from consuming me. No pills. No friends. No words of understanding can stop it from working its way through me. Once it has taken every inch of my body, my spirit, and my mind, will I recognize myself anymore? The answer seems close at hand.

Observations During My Morning Walk

There is a house in my neighborhood with a big pine tree in the front yard. At the foot of the tree is a garden filled with shrubs, flowers, a small decorative statue or two, and a rusty watering can.

The house is dark gray with white shutters. Its mossy, black shingles were replaced last autumn. The front door was painted burgundy last summer. Before winter arrived, there were two vehicles parked in the driveway. By January, only a white Honda remained.

Last week, the 17 year old boy who lived in that house put his head in a noose. The neighbors heard his mother's screams when she found him. It seems he could not cope with his parents' divorce or his girlfriend's plans to move on without him--so the neighbors say.

There is a house in my neighborhood with a big pine tree in the front yard. At the foot of the tree is a garden filled with floral arrangements, photographs, poems, and a rusty watering can overflowing with rainwater.