Dragon's Breath
by Louise Gallagher

Sometimes calm,
sometimes moody,
sometimes a raging mythic dragon,
silvery hair streaming like Medusa’s snakes,
turning the world to stone.

Pussycat. Lion.
Subdued. Wild.

She is wind, she is air,
she is the sea.
Calm and frothy,
rolling and roiling,
brewing a storm of sunlit spray
that crashes against the shore.

Ebb and flow,
the eternal dance.

And in it all,
she is vast and fierce,
mighty and indestructible.

We made it. Not without some hiccups along the way, but we are here, settling in, savouring island life, letting the calm and slower pace embrace us.

Sir Beaumont is in heaven. Lots of walks along the beach and in the forest — my sister, Anne, who has lived on the island for several years comes almost every day to walk him (along with helping me unpack). He loves the long windows overlooking the ocean and the deck where he likes to lie and watch out for walkers strolling with their dogs along the road, though I think he might miss the squirrels who used to play tag through the trees lining the Bow River at our old home. There don’t seem to be as many squirrels for him to chase here — but he does love chasing the waves!

I am slowly clearing the house of boxes and making ‘the mess’ into our home.

And through it all, the muse has been stirring, urging me to pay heed, to stop whatever I’m doing, to simply be still, breathe, and listen to the whispers of my heart.