Words for the New Year, images from the past.

My great-grandfather, Sgt. James Hislop Cook's A Coy, 20th Battalion at the C.N.E. in Toronto, March 1915. His Brigade was commanded by Brigadier Armand Armstrong Smith, of the famous E.D. Smith & Sons. He is fourth from the left, seated in the front row. He was a certified marksman, and was wounded three times in battle. Photograph with permission of Joel Clements, Brainstorm Studio.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender;
be on good terms with all persons…
And whatever your labours and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.
With all it's sham, drudgery and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

'Desiderata', by Max Ehrmann

Daughter of the King

One day she wakes up weary,
of the life she’s come to know.
She used to feel potential
now all she feels is old.
Her eyes have lost their brightness
and her soul is growing cold.
Nobody seems to notice but the Lord...

and He whispers....

You are lovely
You are worthy
You are my delight, for you are daughter of the King.
Broken beauty
sing a new song,
lift your eyes and see yourself through me.
You’re in me.

She looks for ways to feed
a hunger she can’t name.
The black and white of childhood
is lost in shades of grey.
And to find herself she thinks
she must give herself away.
She prays in desperation
to hold on another day,
Then she hears him...

You are lovely
You are worthy
You are my delight, for you are daughter of the King.
Broken beauty
sing a new song,
lift your eyes and see yourself through me.
You’re in me.

You’re his chosen and beloved one, be free.
You’re the perfect, precious daughter of the King.

You’re his chosen and beloved one, be free.
You’re the perfect, precious daughter of the King.

You are lovely
You are worthy
You are my delight, for you are daughter of the King.
Broken beauty
sing a new song,
lift your eyes and see yourself through me.
Lift your eyes and see,
Lift your eyes and see,
Lift your eyes and see yourself through me.
You’re in me

Written by Lesley-Anne Evans and Shawna Froese, Feb. 2007

Road Warrior

photography by Lynda Norman








She defines a small space really --
a brown speckled bump on
the solid yellow line
of Gordon Drive.
Feather’s ruffled by
intent mini-vans and
self-focused lives,

her expiration date is blessedly past.

They say mallards mate once,
for life,
and I wonder…
what will he think
when she doesn’t come home for dinner?

Lesley-Anne Evans
2009

Wind

photograph by Joel Clements










I cannot see the wind
(in a tangible way) with my eyes
no matter how long I stand and look
for it’s source, for it’s destination
(yet I know that it is there).

I see how it plays on the surface of the water
creating patterns, ripples, white caps, storms.
I feel it pulling at my hair, convincing loose strands from my ponytail
that tickle my face, get into my eyes.
I see it sway the Ponderosa as easily as the fields of grain
that move in waves before it’s breath.

And I think, how like the wind
to be so hard to pin down, yet everywhere
around, in, over, under, upon me.

I cannot see the wind
(in a tangible way) with my eyes
no matter how hoarse my voice for asking
how bruised my knees for bending
(yet I know that it is there)

I feel how it presses me, presents itself in people,
circumstances, undeserved kindnesses and grace.
I hear it in the melody of Chick-a-Dee
and child outside my open window.
I know it in my deep and silent places, my hurts,
my dreams, my unexpected realizations.

And I think, how like the wind
to be a thing of faith, unseen yet everywhere
around, in, over, under, upon me.

How like the wind.
How like you.

Lesley-Anne Evans
September 2009

There is a Place

His family is broken, and his life torn apart
His Daddy left them for a woman and a new start.
And he’s only a boy, now he’s man of their home
Keeps a stiff upper lip when mom leaves him alone.

She sits in the chair, feet submerged in the tub
inviting wellness to come with wax, polish and scrub.
Then she books another appointment for the very next day,
tries to hang onto feelings that will soon fade away.

Just a bystander wondering what you can do
‘cause life and confusion is clouding their view.
It would be so easy to just look away
than to point them to Jesus, than to openly say...

There is a place,
there is a plan,
there is a story of grace,
written by the Great I am.…
You could point them to Jesus.

He’s working so hard that he’s missing the truth
that the dream that he’s chasing has stolen his youth.
He’s feeling the pull and he’s longing for more
He’s paying for a lifestyle he can barely afford.

Her husband can’t love her the way that she needs
and this man that she met is so easy to please.
So she picks up her phone, makes a questionable call
His voice drowns out another voice, gentle and small.

Just a bystander wondering what you can do
‘cause life and confusion is clouding their view
it would be so easy to just look away
Then a voice deep inside you compels you to say...

There is a place,
there is a plan,
there is a story of grace
written by the Great I am…
You lead them to Jesus.


Lesley-Anne Evans
2008
These words were written as song lyrics… the tune in my head still not put down onto paper.

Dusk

photography by Bob Evans







There’s an expectation at the coming of night
that with the curtain of darkness drawn down tight
activity will cease with a deep sigh,
and peace will come.

Yet, all it really takes is a step onto my back porch --
to feel a playful breeze rise over my wakeful skin,
to smell lavender preparing to be ravished by tomorrow’s honey bees,
to hear the trill of tree frogs promising passion in the darkness,
to know that night is not a silent ending
rather a dark resurrection of life and love.

Lesley-Anne Evans
September 2009

Walk a mile

photography by Claire Evans



Say nothing.

First, slip your foot into
my travel-worn shoes.

Can you see
scenic bi-ways, foot paths
and well intentioned plans
realized but for weather and love?

If so,
come share
the warmth of my hobo fire
and billy can coffee.

If not,
wipe the dust from your feet
and walk on down the road

in silence.

Lesley-Anne Evans
July 2009

Seabird

Photography by Robert Evans

How does it feel to leave land behind take to the sea live on silver offerings and faith in your ability to stay afloat regardless of weather? Such humble beginnings you wake alone to dirt walls and just a glimmer of light. Hunkered down in your snug burrow fed by swift and sleek parents, then pushed from your nest you fledge quickly to cries of their approval Now it’s time… No backward glances or salt pillars You fix your eye on the watery horizon and fly seaward. Lesley-Anne Evans July 2009

Hawk

Treetop sojourner --
feather’s ruffled against the early morning chill.

Expectant sentinel
over earthly offerings that scurry in frosted stubble.

I wait

and watch

as hunger takes flight.

Deadly beauty circles heavy over me and
life ends…
within a sweep of un-gleaned grain.

Lesley-Anne Evans
06/02/2009

Things I saw while not looking…

A lone robin -- Spring’s ambassador --
hopping tentatively over the tired snow.

Redwing blackbirds calling in raucous warbles
from hidden perches in the frozen marsh.

Three tundra swans banking wide white circles
in the valley below us, on our way home from school.

The sun painting my kitchen a watery yellow
through fingerprinted winter windows.

Lesley-Anne Evans
02/03/2009

Open Water

Dedicated to my friend Art Suke, 1958-2009
















Open Water


Launching at the ‘El.’ is easy,
dry-dock jockey does the work,
lift, drop and go...

Mirages shimmer at the horizon
the sun burning colour from
the bleached blue Okanagan sky.

On the lake it’s 10 degrees cooler.
I cruise south to Okanagan Mountain
no commitments,
no expectations
...alone.

The lake ahead waits like flat glass while
Albertans take their time at brunch --
their loss, my gain.

Peace, open water, silence as
I cut the engine and the boat settles
into dark wash denim liquid.

Well seasoned fisherman, an eagle
flies large circles overhead.
I watch him watching me
...competition for the morning calm.

I fill my thirsty eyes, my mind, my soul
with a deep and quiet gratitude...
a silent prayer to my Creator,

Who watches, and walks with me,
and knows what lies ahead -- all of it --
open water, life
... eternity...

by Lesley-Anne Evans
Oct. 2008