Michael Robert Dyet's Blog, page 31

Reflections on a Common Daisy and its Trio of Visitors

Hmmm, in the full bloom
of summer, can a common Daisy be a highlight?

I am stuck inside again
this weekend rehabbing my temperamental back. It pains me greatly not to be
outdoor in the arms of Mother Nature in the full bloom of summer. Alas, I can
only live vicariously once again through photos taken earlier this year.

Simplicity is the theme
of this post as I look back at moments when the Daisy provided the showcase for
delicate denizens of the grass.

This Pearl Crescent
nestles down on a Daisy for a rest break before using it as a launching pad for
another foray. The Daisy nods into the perch of the Crescent in deference to
it.

This Long-horned Beetle
chooses a Daisy as the stage to pause and ponder life. The world holds its
breath for a moment to freeze-frame this portrait of simplicity.

In this photo, a Daisy
plays host to a European Skipper with its line-etched orange attire. The green
stalks of foliage to the right take the form a forest in miniature sheltering
the skipper.

Three living metaphors
for the elegant simplicity of nature as summer lounges in the lazy days of
July.

~  Now Available Online
from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of
Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also
the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which
was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s
website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com .

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka That Make Me Go
Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing
are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the
right sidebar. If
you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly
to my page for postings once a week.

Darner #14: Right Place at the Right Time

Hmmm, a few moments too
soon, a few too late, sometimes makes all the difference.

There are in the
neighbourhood of 20 members of the Darner
dragonfly family that can be found in this neck of the woods. I have been
fortunate enough to identify 14 in my summer rambles. It is quite likely that
some of the remaining 6 have crossed my path. Darners fly far more often than they perch, so many I see go
buzzing by remain unidentified.

I may owe it to my wonky
back that I added number 14 to the list this week. I could only manage an hour
and a half on the hunt that day and had to forgo my usual off-trail, kicking
through the long grass forays. Timing was such that I arrived at the right spot
at the right time, on the semi-open woodland trail, to catch the Mottled Darner shown above perched on a
tree trunk.

I knew quite quickly, by
the incised and hooked thoracic stripe, that it was one I had not set eyes on
before. Back home, nursing my sore back, I went searching through “Dragonflies
and Damselflies of the East” (a weighty tome too bulky to take into the field)
and made the identification.

And so, this Mottled Darner became a random act of
metaphor for the reality that timing is often everything in life. A few moments
too soon, a few too late, and the moment of delight would have gone wanting.

Good reason to slow down
and let life happen in its own time and be there to bear witness.

~  Now Available Online
from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of
Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also
the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which
was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s
website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com .

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka That Make Me Go
Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing
are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the
right sidebar. If
you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly
to my page for postings once a week.

Canada Day 2019: A Time to Celebrate, But Also to Reflect

Hmmm,
as we approach Canada Day 2019, can we address some of our fraying edges?

There
is much to celebrate about this land we call home as it approaches its 152nd
birthday. On July 1st, our hearts will swell as we take pride in our
great nation.

We have
the second largest land mass of all the countries in the world. This translates
to the unique geography that we so treasure – from the West Coast mountains and
old-growth rain forest, the wide-open spaces of the prairies and the rocky face
of the Canadian Shield to the rugged shores and windswept beaches of the East
Coast.

We are
one of the most culturally diverse nations on the planet. In the province of
Ontario alone, over 25% of the population is foreign born.

Canada
is a secular and tolerant society. All religions are free to worship as they
wish.

We have
a global reputation as one of the world’s safest, most affluent countries with
low crime and a clean environment.

And, of
course, our very own Toronto Raptors are the reigning NBA champions!

But it
is not all rainbows and butterflies. There are ways in which we fall short as a
nation. It only takes a few minutes of web surfing to reveal them. We need to
open our eyes to these realities and commit to addressing them.

235,000
Canadians experience homelessness each year – 35,000 on any given night. 50,000
Canadians experience hidden homelessness
such as couch-surfing, sleeping in a car or other precarious housing.

1 in 7
(or 4.9 million) people in Canada live in poverty. Precarious employment has
increased by almost 50% in the last two decades.

Our
treatment of Indigenous People – First Nations, Metis and Inuit – leaves much
to be desired. Indigenous people are overrepresented in the homeless population
– 1 in 4 people experiencing homeless identify as Aboriginal or First Nations.

An
estimated 1,200 Indigenous women or girls have been murdered or gone missing –
a sobering fact that some characterize as “race-based genocide”.

Many
First Nations lack access to clean drinking water. 400 of 618 First Nations
were under at least one water advisory between 2004 and 2014.

I am
not saying that we should not be proud of our country. On July 1st,
we should sing its praises loud and clear and unabashedly wave the flag. But we
should also carve out some time to reflect on what we can do better.

Our
well-known Canadian politeness is a metaphor for who we are. But this Canada
Day, let’s commit to addressing some of the fraying edges of that metaphor so
all can share equally in it.

~  Now Available Online
from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also
the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which
was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s
website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com .

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka That Make Me Go
Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing
are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the
right sidebar. If
you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly
to my page for postings once a week.

Quoth the Raven: My Spirit Animal Comes Calling

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
~ Edgar Alan Poe: The Raven

Hmmm, how strange that my spirit animal found me so close to home after all these years.

I was out for a lunchtime walk earlier this week. Being an avid birdwatcher, my eye caught activity high above. A large blackbird, which I originally took to be a Crow, was chasing and harassing a Red-tailed Hawk. This in itself is not unusual. Blackbirds often chase hawks as they are a threat to newly fledged birds.

But even from a distance I made out the distinctive crrruck crrruck crrruck call and realized it was in fact a Raven. Ravens are not generally found in urban areas, although in recent years they have been sighted more often.

I watched the scene play out for several minutes. It took on the appearance of an aerial dogfight with the Raven chasing and the hawk evading. Hawks have the ability to glide on wind thermals which gave the Red-tailed a distinct advantage.

A Raven would not actually attack a Red-tailed as the hawk is larger. But this Raven was determined to banish the hawk from its territory. As I observed the encounter, it seemed as though the hawk was enjoying the encounter – gracefully gliding and banking with apparent ease. The Raven eventually gave up the chase.

As I continued on my walk, I was surprised to hear the call of another Raven much closer. In the parking lot of the building where I work, another Raven – perhaps the mate of the one harassing the hawk – was perched on a light pole. Two Ravens in the same area raise the distinct possibility of a nest nearby.

These sightings brought to mind the famous Edgar Alan Poe poem The Raven which I quoted at the head of this post. I have always loved this classic poem both for its elegant use of language and the depth of symbolism.

Ravens have symbolic importance in many cultures. In Native America lore, the Raven is a creature of metamorphosis, symbolizes transformation and in some tribes is considered a trickster because of its transforming attributes.

Some cultures view the Raven as a spirit animal – a reflection of the universe's mystical ways. When your life is full of raven symbolism, it signifies that you have a strong and mysterious force surrounding you.

I have never given thought until now to what my spirit animal would be. It seems obvious that it must be the Raven. I am the trickster, the weaver of metaphors, the mysterious one wandering from the nightly shore. Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”.

~ Now Available Online from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com.

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka That Make Me Go Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Quoth the Raven: My Spirit Animal Comes Calling

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad
fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the
countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,
thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven
wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the
Night’s Plutonian shore!”

            Quoth
the Raven “Nevermore.”

~
Edgar Alan Poe: The Raven

Hmmm, how strange that
my spirit animal found me so close to home after all these years.

I was out for a lunchtime
walk earlier this week. Being an avid birdwatcher, my eye caught activity high
above. A large blackbird, which I originally took to be a Crow, was chasing and
harassing a Red-tailed Hawk. This in itself is not unusual. Blackbirds often
chase hawks as they are a threat to newly fledged birds.

But even from a distance
I made out the distinctive crrruck
crrruck crrruck call and realized it was in fact a Raven. Ravens are not
generally found in urban areas, although in recent years they have been sighted
more often.

I watched the scene play
out for several minutes. It took on the appearance of an aerial dogfight with
the Raven chasing and the hawk evading. Hawks have the ability to glide on wind
thermals which gave the Red-tailed a distinct advantage.

A Raven would not
actually attack a Red-tailed as the hawk is larger. But this Raven was
determined to banish the hawk from its territory. As I observed the encounter,
it seemed as though the hawk was enjoying the encounter – gracefully gliding
and banking with apparent ease. The Raven eventually gave up the chase.

As I continued on my
walk, I was surprised to hear the call of another Raven much closer. In the
parking lot of the building where I work, another Raven – perhaps the mate of
the one harassing the hawk – was perched on a light pole. Two Ravens in the
same area raise the distinct possibility of a nest nearby.

These sightings brought
to mind the famous Edgar Alan Poe poem The
Raven which I quoted at the head of this post. I have always loved this
classic poem both for its elegant use of language and the depth of symbolism.

Ravens have symbolic
importance in many cultures. In Native America lore, the Raven is a creature of metamorphosis, symbolizes transformation
and in some tribes is considered a trickster because of its transforming attributes.

Some cultures view the
Raven as a spirit animal – a reflection of the universe’s
mystical ways. When your life is full of raven symbolism, it signifies that you have a strong and
mysterious force surrounding you.

I have never given
thought until now to what my spirit animal would be. It seems obvious that it
must be the Raven. I am the trickster, the weaver of metaphors, the mysterious
one wandering from the nightly shore. Quoth
the Raven “Nevermore”.

~  Now Available Online
from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of
Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also
the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which
was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s
website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com .

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka That Make Me Go
Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing
are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the
right sidebar. If
you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly
to my page for postings once a week.

Metaphors of Life Journal: Simplity Above All

Hmmm, will you think me perverse if I draw a line in the sand and steadfastly refuse to cross?

I am at heart a simple man. Not necessarily a simple man to understand, but let’s not open that can of worms. The point is I orient my life where possible in favour of that which is clear and unequivocally simple.

It follows, them, that it is the simple things that give me pleasure. Winding my way through meadows, marshlands and forests, marveling at the winged wonders that inhabit them, is what I enjoy more than anything else. Curling up with a good novel also rates high on the list.

It also follows that I have an aversion to things that are unnecessarily complicated, do not bend to reason or do not work the way they are designed to. In the privacy of my own home, I curse them out quite vociferously. In public, I do so under my breath.

Let me give you an example. I have a tempestuous relationship with my television. I enjoy relaxing in front of it to watch one my favourite programs. It serves its purpose in this respect.

However, it takes 5 to 10 seconds to turn on for no apparent reason other than the jumble of technology that is jammed into it. I find this quite annoying. I realize that this technology powers more sophisticated features than the TVs of old. But I have no interest in most of the special things it can do.

Furthermore, it is programmed to turn on using the cable remote. However, periodically it perversely declines to do so. I then have to use the remote that came with the television. Once again, I find this more than a bit annoying and view it as a design failure. But all I can do is quietly fume.

You might deduce that I dislike complexity. But you would be mistaken. For example, identifying a dragonfly, based on a combination of subtle markings, behaviour, posture, habitat and geographic range, is an intellectual exercise I very much enjoy.

Here is the distinction. I dislike things that are unnecessarily complicated which is quite a different quality than complexity. My television is complicated. Thousands of lines of computer code interact in ways I am convinced the programmers do not fully comprehend. This translates to quirky, unpredictable operation which pushes my buttons, if you will pardon the pun.

Where am I headed with this idiosyncratic ramble? I suppose I am constructing the beginnings of a personal manifesto – an attempt to make sense out of a nonsensical world by carving out a niche for myself.

You could say I am drawing a line in the sand. If you go looking for me, you will always find me on the simplicity side of the life equation. The other side of the line is foreign territory.

Returning to my original premise, I am at heart a simple man. Simplicity pleases me. I allow for complexity when it is ruled by reason. Beyond that my line in the sand applies and ever shall.

For better or worse, this is the world according to Michael.

~ Now Available Online from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com .

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka That Make Me Go Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Simplicity Above All

Hmmm, will you think me
perverse if I draw a line in the sand and steadfastly refuse to cross?

I am at heart a simple
man. Not necessarily a simple man to
understand, but let’s not open that can of worms. The point is I orient my
life where possible in favour of that which is clear and unequivocally simple.

It follows, them, that
it is the simple things that give me pleasure. Winding my way through meadows,
marshlands and forests, marveling at the winged wonders that inhabit them, is
what I enjoy more than anything else. Curling up with a good novel also rates
high on the list.

It also follows that I
have an aversion to things that are unnecessarily complicated, do not bend to
reason or do not work the way they are designed to. In the privacy of my own
home, I curse them out quite vociferously. In public, I do so under my breath.

Let me give you an
example. I have a tempestuous relationship with my television. I enjoy relaxing
in front of it to watch one my favourite programs. It serves its purpose in
this respect.

However, it takes 5 to
10 seconds to turn on for no apparent reason other than the jumble of
technology that is jammed into it. I find this quite annoying. I realize that this
technology powers more sophisticated features than the TVs of old. But I have
no interest in most of the special things it can do.

Furthermore, it is
programmed to turn on using the cable remote. However, periodically it perversely
declines to do so. I then have to use the remote that came with the television.
Once again, I find this more than a bit annoying and view it as a design
failure. But all I can do is quietly fume.

You might deduce that I
dislike complexity. But you would be mistaken. For example, identifying a
dragonfly, based on a combination of subtle markings, behaviour, posture,
habitat and geographic range, is an intellectual exercise I very much enjoy.

Here is the distinction.
I dislike things that are unnecessarily complicated
which is quite a different quality than complexity.
 My television is complicated. Thousands of lines of computer code interact in ways I
am convinced the programmers do not fully comprehend. This translates to
quirky, unpredictable operation which pushes my buttons, if you will pardon the
pun.

Where am I headed with
this idiosyncratic ramble? I suppose I am constructing the beginnings of a
personal manifesto – an attempt to make sense out of a nonsensical world by
carving out a niche for myself.

You could say I am
drawing a line in the sand. If you go looking for me, you will always find me
on the simplicity side of the life equation. The other side of the line is
foreign territory.

Returning to my original
premise, I am at heart a simple man. Simplicity pleases me. I allow for
complexity when it is ruled by reason. Beyond that my line in the sand applies
and ever shall.

For better or worse, this
is the world according to Michael.

~  Now Available Online
from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of
Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also
the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which
was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s
website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com .

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka That Make Me Go
Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing
are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the
right sidebar. If
you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly
to my page for postings once a week.

An Arctic Skipper Hidden in the Blades of Grass

Hmmm, is resilience bred
in the bone?

I have officially made
the transition, although it is still officially spring, from spring
birdwatching to summer butterfly and dragonfly sleuthing. The unusually cold
spring means a late start from these winged wonders of summer.

But among the handful of
species active this weekend, I was pleased to spot an Arctic Skipper – a late
spring species, about the size of a dime, which will be gone by the time the
scorching days of July arrive.

I love these little guys
in part because they are quite striking despite their diminutive bodies. But
also because they give me reason to stop and wonder at how such a tiny,
delicate creature can survive in the big, bad world. It seems rather to defy
the odds.

An Artic Skipper hidden
in blades of grass – a random act of metaphor to remind me that resilience is
bred in the bone of all God’s creatures large and small.

~  Now Available Online
from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble: Hunting Muskie, Rites of
Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also
the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which
was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s
website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com .

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka That Make Me Go
Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing
are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the
right sidebar. If
you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly
to my page for postings once a week.

Metaphors of Life Journal: God's Honest Truth

Hmmm, have you ever had one of those moments of quiet revelation when you realize there is something you’ve been hiding from yourself that is crying out to be acknowledged?

If you answered yes, you’ll enjoy the story “God’s Honest Truth” from my short story collection “Hunting Muskie: Rites of Passage”. Here is an excerpt to tease your interest.

The last embers of November daylight were expiring over the treetops as David Hamm rounded a bend on Point Pelee’s DeLaurier Trail. Overhead the rolling bugle call of a late-season sandhill crane resonated over the marsh. David raised his eyes and followed the crane’s sleek profile—elongated neck slicing across the sky like a spear and three foot, slate gray wings carving the air with graceful power.

“Reluctant to leave, are you?” David said to the crane as it abruptly banked to the east. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

He continued on the winding trail, passing swamp ponds with blankets of algae and cloaked in shadows, until he came to the viewing platform. He rested his arms on the railing and leaned out to watch a snapping turtle haul its cumbersome body out of the canal. The snapper, raising itself on its stubby legs, swiveled its prehistoric head slowly toward him. Its inscrutable gaze posed the question: Are you sure?

“A bit late for second thoughts,” David answered. “I’ve accepted the job and handed in my resignation here. It’s a done deal.”

The snapper regarded him for a full minute, as if waiting for him to finish.

“So why haven’t I told Lyndsay? I will. Just have to find the right time and the right words. She’ll be upset at first, but she’ll come around.”

The snapper turned away and levered itself further up the bank. David leaned back and scanned the length of the canal. It still amazed him to think that the DeLaurier men, squatters on this land 170 years ago, had dug the canals by hand to drain the land for farming. The act of leaving Point Pelee seemed, at this moment, like turning his back on those indomitable men who had claimed the land by taming it.

He turned his attention back to the turtle. It occurred to him that snappers could live for thirty years. It was quite plausible that this grizzled old-timer was the same one he had seen here when his father brought him to the park when he was only five. It had been a mesmerizing experience for a child with an innate passion for the natural world.

Pelee became his obsession. He was a familiar figure as a teenager riding his bicycle down Mersea Road, past the Sturgeonwoods Campground and Marina and past the cottages perched on the breakwater overlooking the lake, heading for the park.

Point Pelee was the only place to which he had applied after earning his Master’s degree in biology. And yet now, less than two years after he had realized his dream, he was leaving for reasons that he still could not clearly articulate. He knew only that a momentous shift had occurred in him like tectonic plates colliding in the subterranean depths of the earth. He was restless, discontented and anxious for change

The buzzing of his cell phone stirred David from his thoughts. He pulled it out of his pocket to check the number—Lyndsay calling from the Leamington Days Inn where she worked. She was probably just bored or needing to vent her frustration because the new registration system had gone fubar again. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

There was no denying that the two of them had been out of sync. It seemed at times as if Lyndsay had something she needed to tell him as well. Or had she sensed that he was harbouring a secret and was waiting for him to come clean?...

If you’re intrigued, Hunting Muskie, Rites of Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet is available online from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble. Check out the book trailer video on YouTube. https://tinyurl.com/yczf6wrp

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com.

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

God’s Honest Truth

Hmmm, have you ever had
one of those moments of quiet revelation when you realize there is something
you’ve been hiding from yourself that is crying out to be acknowledged?

If you answered yes, you’ll enjoy the story “God’s
Honest Truth” from my short story collection “Hunting Muskie: Rites of Passage”.
Here is an excerpt to tease your interest.

The
last embers of November daylight were expiring over the treetops as David Hamm rounded
a bend on Point Pelee’s DeLaurier Trail. Overhead the rolling bugle call of a
late-season sandhill crane resonated over the marsh. David raised his eyes and
followed the crane’s sleek profile—elongated neck slicing across the sky like a
spear and three foot, slate gray wings carving the air with graceful power.

“Reluctant
to leave, are you?” David said to the crane as it abruptly banked to the east.
“There’s a lot of that going around.”

He
continued on the winding trail, passing swamp ponds with blankets of algae and
cloaked in shadows, until he came to the viewing platform. He rested his arms
on the railing and leaned out to watch a snapping turtle haul its cumbersome
body out of the canal. The snapper, raising itself on its stubby legs, swiveled
its prehistoric head slowly toward him. Its inscrutable gaze posed the
question: Are you sure?

“A
bit late for second thoughts,” David answered. “I’ve accepted the job and
handed in my resignation here. It’s a done deal.”

The
snapper regarded him for a full minute, as if waiting for him to finish.

“So
why haven’t I told Lyndsay? I will. Just have to find the right time and the
right words. She’ll be upset at first, but she’ll come around.”

The
snapper turned away and levered itself further up the bank. David leaned back
and scanned the length of the canal. It still amazed him to think that the
DeLaurier men, squatters on this land 170 years ago, had dug the canals by hand
to drain the land for farming. The act of leaving Point Pelee seemed, at this
moment, like turning his back on those indomitable men who had claimed the land
by taming it.

He
turned his attention back to the turtle. It occurred to him that snappers could
live for thirty years. It was quite plausible that this grizzled old-timer was
the same one he had seen here when his father brought him to the park when he
was only five. It had been a mesmerizing experience for a child with an innate
passion for the natural world.

Pelee
became his obsession. He was a familiar figure as a teenager riding his bicycle
down Mersea Road, past the Sturgeonwoods Campground and Marina and past the
cottages perched on the breakwater overlooking the lake, heading for the park.

Point
Pelee was the only place to which he had applied after earning his Master’s
degree in biology. And yet now, less than two years after he had realized his
dream, he was leaving for reasons that he still could not clearly articulate.
He knew only that a momentous shift had occurred in him like tectonic plates
colliding in the subterranean depths of the earth. He was restless,
discontented and anxious for change

The
buzzing of his cell phone stirred David from his thoughts. He pulled it out of
his pocket to check the number—Lyndsay calling from the Leamington Days Inn
where she worked. She was probably just bored or needing to vent her
frustration because the new registration system had gone fubar again. He
slipped his phone back into his pocket.

There
was no denying that the two of them had been out of sync. It seemed at times as
if Lyndsay had something she needed to tell him as well. Or had she sensed that
he was harbouring a secret and was waiting for him to come clean?…

If you’re intrigued, Hunting Muskie, Rites of Passage – Stories by Michael Robert Dyet is available online from Amazon, Chapters Indigo or Barnes & Noble. Check out the book trailer video on YouTube. https://tinyurl.com/yczf6wrp

~ Michael Robert Dyet is also
the author of Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel which
was a double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s
website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com .

~ Subscribe to Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make
Me Go Hmmm at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing
are provided in the Subscribe to this Blog: How To instructions page in the
right sidebar. If
you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly
to my page for postings once a week.