Spells for Safe Passage

Looking back, while looking ahead

Someone once commented on my Instagram how my photography work “creates stories in [their] mind of childhood wonder and fears and discovery,” and I was absolutely stunned by a complete stranger’s particularly apt way of describing my inner world and creative process. 

It’s an unseasonably warm October here on my hilltop, but the pull of fall migration in my bird companions is as strong as ever. My sky is periodically filled with geese, as it should be despite the 30°C weather, and I am reminded of this piece that I originally published in 2020, along with the self-portrait above, on my now-defunct Patreon—a fitting first offering for this new Substack adventure.

When I was a kid, I was very much obsessed with The Little Prince; first the early-1980s cartoon, then the book (I’ll admit, as a 40-something bookworm, Le Petit Prince is still my all-time favourite. I own multiple copies of it, and I know every line by heart). In those tender first years of my life on this planet, and especially in the first few years after my family moved to Canada, I identified with the beloved alien because, like him, I was an outsider from a far-distant world, and I always felt homesick for a place that I only remembered from photos and stories. I wasn’t a lonely kid though; I didn’t particularly enjoy the company of other children, who also didn’t really enjoy mine, so I spent most of my time hanging out with my dog, reading piles of books, talking to birds and plants, and creating elaborate fantasy worlds in my backyard. 

Ummm... 

Some things never change. 

My favourite part of The Little Prince’s tale was how “for his escape he took advantage of the migration of a flock of wild birds.” My little-kid imagination ran with this, and every time I heard Canada Geese, I rushed to the window or looked overhead and waved until they were out of sight, and pictured myself catching a ride with them (surely—so my little-kid logic went—that was why they were so loud all the time, so I would know they were ready to carry me and my family (and our dog) back home across the sky, and that’s why they were called Canada geese, because they took you from Canada to where you needed to go). I would fret about my winged friends all winter, in case they had gotten lost, or worse, and wouldn’t be coming back for me in the spring. 

And so I developed a lifelong fondness for those generally much-maligned birds. I still rush to the window or look overhead and wave every time I hear them, and I still worry about them during migration… and hunting season. And I offer up my own prayers and spells for their safe passage to and from their destinations, be they on this planet or beyond the stars.

And with this, I’m inviting to you subscribe to this Substack and join me on my creative journey, as I share glimpses of my universe with you. From my current songwriting and album recording projects, to my botanical headpiece art (and maybe, eventually, another lilac-leaf skirt like the one above?), to my musings on the wild animals who share this magical space with me—see how every aspect of my life and work is inspired by and rooted in my deep love of nature.