Cover image © Brian Michael Barbeito

Three fields — one lost, one in town, one above the ravine — and what an open spirit can still find in each.

Prose and photographs by Brian Michael Barbeito

Different ones. But a mosaic of memory is ok. For instance, the old wagon stationed in the middle of the pastoral field where I walked a thousand times. There, winds like ghosts. Sometimes Orioles. Blue Jays. Some sand. Many pebbles. Birches and evergreens on the perimeter. Way out there. Away from the world, read ‘nice,’ ‘calming.’ The old farmer that gave permission has passed away now though, and the land is not for guests. It is in probate. Times change. Right away I remembered and missed the walks in all seasons. Even the mud and rain. But I have many pictures and writings. Many many many. And am grateful for what was.

The one in town. Now, truth be told there are hydro lines around, and it’s not like what one would think of when picturing an ideal ‘nature’ place. But everything can present something worthwhile…you just need the right view, an open spirit, and creativity.

For instance, there are deeply green grasses and birdsong around. Even a grasshopper or the hawk appearing in the sky. And it’s quite safe, for I have noticed there in the woods some questionable people at times, and I don’t mean homeless people, for they are generally far safer than the general populace and I have worked with hundreds.

Thirdly, the field that is up from the ravine and woods. In that forest there are main paths and lesser-known ones. The water looks fresh and clean,- though I don’t know how clean it is. It goes over the rocks and washes the smaller ones that sit at the side for anyone to see- green, yellow, red. Well up the way where the field is stationed, I see the butterflies and moths, the caterpillars and occasionally dragonflies small and neon blue.

Goldenrod. Reeds. Paths people have made but I didn’t see anyone there for the most part. It’s a mystery. The industrial zone with many small buildings and units. People work in these small places all day and week and year and I suppose life. I’d rather roam free. And if not roam far at times, have the option to. The principle of freedom of movement. Or to just be in the air amidst the insects and birds, the wildflowers and wind.

About the author

Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian poet and photographer residing in the Southern Ontario area.