Elizabeth Grandbois is terminally ill with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease). Her fragile health has caused her to reflect on her life with a sense of immediacy that lends a vibrant tension to her prose and poetry.

2002   142 pages

$14.95

Chapter 1:
Poems of Childhood

Elizabeth Grandbois, September 1999: At the cottage I played for long periods in the woods. I remember well the secret place…

A Secret Place

When I was very young I had a secret place,
in amongst the birch trees
down beside the lake.
Fallen autumn leaves carpeted the ground,
there was a log to sit on
and a boulder, smooth and round.
Sitting very quietly, I’d wait for guests to come,
fairies, elves or wood folk,
I’d welcome anyone.
A black and yellow caterpillar crawling on a tree
left its signature of lace
on a young green leaf.
The lapping sound of water as it rolled along the shore
made it difficult to hear the little voices,
but when I heard them whispering
I felt such great delight,
for they had come to play with me
…albeit out of sight.

Elizabeth Grandbois, December 1999
Nature has always been a friend…

The Willow Tree

My journey leads me down a road
beside a sheltered lee,
it forks along a narrow point
around a willow tree.
And there I stop to rest awhile
the branches weeping low,
the shade is cool, the ground is soft,
it’s soothing to the soul.
I lean my back against the trunk,
the tree feels wise and strong,
I close my eyes and listen
to its tranquil rustling.
I tell the tree my story
where I come from, who I am,
I share my load of worries
with this tall and willowy friend.
I rise again to take the road
much lighter in my mind,
the tree will guard my secrets
I can leave them all behind.

Elizabeth Grandbois, October 1999
One lovely memory is that of a dream I used to have regularly as a child. It was a wonderful dream.

My Flying Dream

I sometimes close my eyes
and pretend that I can fly,
I used to have just such a dream.
The wind would lift my body
and make me feel so light,
a pleasure only known in dreams,
a freedom felt in flight.
I’d look down upon the people,
they seemed to be so small,
it’s strange they never noticed
never noticed me at all.
Floating on the gentle breeze
I’d circle ‘round and ‘round
and when I grew too tired
my feet would touch the ground.
Sadly, it was just a dream
that brought me such delight,
I dearly hope my flying dream
will come to me tonight.

Young Camper

Lying in my bunk bed feeling toasty warm,
I wondered what had wakened me
in the early light of dawn.
The bugle hadn’t sounded for campers to arise,
the other girls were sleeping
I could hear their restful sighs.
Then I heard the rustling from underneath my bunk,
looking down beneath the cot,
I saw the small chipmunk.
He was right there in the corner sitting bold as brass,
nibbling on the cookies
I had hidden in my pack.
He’d tasted each and every one
and left a pile of crumbs,
I wouldn’t have minded sharing, if he’d only eaten one.
Suddenly, the bugle broke the silence of the morn
and before the bugler finished,
the little thief was gone.
I was sorry when he ran away
and wished to see him back
so I planned to entice him
with a tempting little snack.
That night I placed a tid-bit underneath my bunk
and what I didn’t want to share
I hid inside my trunk.
The little chipmunk did return along with other friends,
a host of furry visitors running under beds.
We watched this curious caper, taking all in jest,
…no one ever questioned,
who’d invited all the guests.

The Resident Snake

He viewed his jurisdiction from atop the granite rock
coiled in perfect symmetry he basked beneath the sun
passers-by were monitored along the flagstone path,
some of them he shadowed and some he left alone.

The path was the link from the cottage to the shore,
the necessary passage for those who liked to bathe,
reckless toads and chipmunks crossed the rough terrain,
rushing to the poplar grove, believing they were safe.

Now and then, the furtive snake would up and disappear,
causing more alarm, when hiding out of sight,
but by and large he spent his day sunning on the stone,
storing all his energy for foraging at night.

As children we felt anxious by this most unwelcome guest,
we tirelessly begged he be taken far away,
acquiescing to our pleas, father found a canvas bag
and paddled with his charge to the far end of the bay.

At last we were free from the shady silhouette,
with emancipated joy we skipped toward the lake,
it had only been a day since the dweller was evicted
yet here he was, back again, the dreaded resident snake.

He viewed his jurisdiction from atop the granite rock,
coiled in perfect symmetry he basked beneath the sun,
passers-by were monitored along the flagstone path,
some of them he shadowed and some he left alone.