It seems my hands - thou not my hands - have made their way . . .

. . . . On to the blog-o-sphere. 
Yes these hands are not mine - but are now a current (like leaves before the wind). 



From my Flickr page, a night, and a table of hands at the Fringe Cafe, 

West Broadway, 

Vancouver, BC.

Candice Todesco travel video.

Candice Todesco's  travel video for the game entry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FSNQA3GzfA&feature=player_embedded

A short note on my sister's new practise in Kamloops, BC.

Nicole Befurt, MA, new counselling practise in Kamloops, BC

"Through supervised graduate studies and advanced therapeutic training, I have developed my skills in a number of treatment perspectives. I work collaboratively with clients to determine the therapy that will match their needs and personal experiences.

Treatment perspectives include (but are not limited to) Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, Solution Focused Therapy, Family Systems Therapy, Response Based Therapy, Principle Based therapy, Bowen's Multigenerational Therapy, Play Therapy, and aspects of Gestalt and Reality Therapy. Let's discuss what will work for you."

http://nbcounselling.ca/

Text of decor script above the Valentine's Day line-up at Purdy's chocolates

Text of decor script above the Valentine's Day line-up at Purdy's chocolates: "… from whose unseen presence the leaves dead - Are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, - Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red," — Edmonton's Southgate mall around 4:30pm on the afternoon of Valentine's Day — Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822): Ode to the West Wind

The long line up and short term panic of those lovers and other saintly souls

The long line up and short term panic of those lovers and other saintly souls as they wander on to the hearth and heat of home and heart. On Valentine's Day, a Thursday — the line-up at Purdy's Chocolates in the afternoon.

"… from whose unseen presence the leaves dead - Are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, - Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,"

-Edmonton's Southgate mall around 4:30pm on the afternoon of Valentine's Day --

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822): Ode to the West Wind

I
O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
  Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
  Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thou         5
  Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
  Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
  Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill  10
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
  With living hues and odours plain and hill;
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, O hear!

II
Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,  15
  Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean,
  Angels of rain and lightning! there are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
  Like the bright hair uplifted from the head  20
Of some fierce Mænad, even from the dim verge
  Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
  Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,  25
  Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: O hear!

III
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
  The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,  30
Lull'd by the coil of his crystàlline streams,
  Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
  Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers  35
  So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
  Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
  The sapless foliage of the ocean, know  40
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!

IV
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
  If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share  45
  The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! if even
  I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,
  As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed  50
Scarce seem'd a vision—I would ne'er have striven
  As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
O! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
  I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd  55
One too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud.

V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
  What if my leaves are falling like its own?
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
  Will take from both a deep autumnal tone,  60
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
  My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,
  Like wither'd leaves, to quicken a new birth;
And, by the incantation of this verse,  65
  Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
  Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?  70
(in public domain)