Welcome to the world, Noah!

It's official: I'm an aunt again! My newest nephew, Noah Bernard John, was born on October 18 at 8:42 a.m. He weighed in at 7lbs 1oz. Mom, Dad, big brother Ethan, and Noah are all doing well and looking forward to going home today.

Noah is named after his dad's brother Bernie, who passed away 2 years ago, and his Dad's father John.

Welcome to the world, little one! I can't wait to get to know you!

My favourite poem

About every six months or so, I pick up a little book that sits by my bedside and escape into the beautiful words written there. No matter how many times I read them, they never fail to make my breath catch. Here they are, from Nobel Prize-winning poet Pablo Neruda's 1924 collection Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair:

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night sky is starry
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolved in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms, my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.

Some other things that are good for the soul

1. The sound of wind and rain (oh, the dreadful wind and the rain) in the trees outside my living room window.

2. Concerts in my living room.

3. "Tracks of My Tears" by Smokey Robinson, as performed by Jory Nash.

4. Gliding over a totally still lake (in a canoe, not using the power of your mind, although that would be really cool) early in the morning in Algonquin Park.

5. Roasted Butternut Squash soup at Hugh's Room.

6. The smell of autumn: decaying leaves and cooling earth and NO SMOG!

7. Polar fleece: blankets, mittens, sweaters, scarves, pants, hats, socks. I love it all. Give me polar fleece, or give me death!

8. Ryan Adams' "How Do You Keep Love Alive" from Cold Roses.

9. The laughter of children (especially when they're 3 and it's your joke they're laughing at - did I have a sense of humour at age 3??).

10. Watching the steel freighters on Lake Ontario (with extra points for doing this on the anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald).

11. Welcoming a new child into the family.

Anyone have any "things that are good for the soul" to add?

Walking in the Woods

I think I always knew this but I confirmed it first-hand last weekend: walking in the woods is good for the soul.

I took a short weekend trip to Algonquin Provincial Park last weekend with my sister-in-law Sue and her sister Lois. We have been trying to plan this trip for a while; but they both have small children at home, so it's not that easy to get away. Things came together for this weekend, though, and it turns out that the last week in September is usually one of the best for viewing fall colours. We're all amateur photographers, so it all seemed meant to be.

The weather cooperated for the most part; but it was a rainy Sunday afternoon when we parked the car at the beginning of the Track & Tower Trail and set out. A gently rolling and varied path led us through the woods; over handmade bridges; close to the shore of Cache Lake, where we could see the remains of an old railroad trestle resting in the water; past old logging runs; and up a steep 2km climb to the top of an impressive hill. We walked into a clearing as the rain faded away and saw what looked like all of Algonquin laid out in front of us. Beyond an outcropping of rocks with a very Group of Seven-esque pine tree growing on it, there were miles of patchwork forests and lakes and rivers stretching to the horizon and beyond. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

The climbing, the sore muscles, the shortness of breath, and the rain were all worth it when I saw that view. We stood there for a half hour snapping pictures to pick up all the details we wouldn't remember and feeling the wind whip around our bodies.

That is good for the soul. I feel cleansed.