God calls me through all my senses.

Sound, sight, touch in all tenses.

Smell, taste, intuition without fences.

I immerse in the flavors of His loving call.

Taste and see the Lord, steadfast above all.

Always on my lips in case I stumble and fall

Mint, dill, cumin may add flovoring to my life.

Yet do little to extend compassion to those in strife.

Reminded of my many hypocrisies running rife.

Tested by fruit of the tree in garden of Eden. Safe and sunny.

Ungrateful for desert graces of His manna made sweet as honey.

Precious gifts of bread and wine betrayed by blood money.

Bread of life and cup of hope presented without haste.

Placing Him in my mouth, filling me with delicious taste.

Body, blood, soul, divinity received. I am divinely graced.

Intimate, personal according to His plan.

Truly present as promised by the great I AM.

Sent out to love and serve others as best I can.

My personal encounter with His pure grace.

His promises are sweeter than wine to taste.

Called to be salt and light, graces to not waste.

Every day invited to taste and see the goodness of the Lord.

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Chris' and my grace before meals.

I am the bread of life. He who comes to me shall not hunger, and who believes in me shall not thirst.

Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.

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Written for TuesdayCreations theme on taste.

Poem and photos ©️Karen Howells August 26, 2026.

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Beautiful Hymn from Psalm 34

Taste and See

^{Photo descriptions in order:}

^{— Pope St. John Paul II preparing the the bread and wine for consecration at Papal Mass I attended in Edmonton in 1974.}

^{— After echanging vows, they await receiving Communion for their first time as a married couple.}

^{— Outdoor Mass at the Mission Cairn near Bragg Creek.}

^{— Tabernacle containing the Body of Christ on the Tsuut'ina Nation.}

I am always on the lookout where ever I go.
Up, down, all around treasures You bestow. 

Senses alert to opportunities unexpected.
Experiences, feelings of being connected.

My head down as I constantly survey the ground.
Head up looking for celestial glories that abound.
Ears attuned to a symphony of meliflous sound.
Heart open encountering others wanting to be found.

Joy of a tiny elegant mushroom never seen before.
Awe of the moon in the night sky, reveals so much more. 

Sun veiled in smoke with a glorious glow and hue.
Sounds of falcons, flickers, nuthatches to cite but a few. 

Watching the sky for signs of fair weather or storm.
Cloud height, colors, shapes, direction reassure or warn. 

Watching the wind's effect on grasses, flowers and trees.
Zephyrs, plow winds, Chinooks, gales, gentle summer breeze. 

Looking inward to my heart's longing, unexpected graces abound.
Deep connections to the Devine; or simple God Winks in my heart resound.
Overcoming sorrows, suffering, doubt; true joy and happiness to be found.
From the depths you call to me with abiding love most profound.

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Written for recent Tuesday Creations theme on the unexpected.

Poem and Photos ©️Karen Howells

^{The joy of this morning's sunrise reflecting off a neighbor's window as I lay in bed}

Joy, supernatural gift of the Holy Spirit.
More than nice feelings, temporary moods, fun times. 
Why do I sabotage joy in my life?
What antidotes to explore, implore? 

Being of the World world distracts from my purpose in life.
Calls me to seek God's transcendentals; Truth, Goodness, Beauty

Complaining narrows intentionality, stifles creativity, limits opportunity. 
Calls me to reframe, to employ 'Complaint Judo', turning negativity on itself.

Perfectionism imposes impossible expectations. 
Calls me to seek compassion, understanding, forgiveness.

Worrying distracts from present joys.
Calls me to trust in God's providential love. 

Paralyzing grief, sorrow, pain blinds me to the ever-present sources of joy.
Calls me to deeper solidarity with Christ's suffering and His example to persevere in mission. 

Immersing in negativity of the world camouflages sources of joy that surround me.
Calls me to seek music, creativity that express gifts of true Joy. 

I choose JOY 

Seeking joy in the little things all about. 
A sunrise, a flower, a bird, a friend, music.
Finding that deep joy promised by God. 

"I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete." John 15

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Beethoven's Ode to Joy click on link

Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee

^{The joy of watching a young Flicker explore our front tree}

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I was inspired to explore the theme of joy as I adjust to recently retiring from one of my greatest sources of joy for the last 4 decades — journeying with adults and teens seeking Baptism.

Writing and photos ©️Karen Howells

^{The joy of watching a Red Breasted Nuthatch taking a bath in our backyard waterfall}

Whence came visions of cinnamon buns filling my head.

Nose twitching a little as I wake to that heavenly smell.

Sweet aromas of cinnamon, stay awake soon all will be well ... zzzzzzzzzzz ...

Drifting off again, such happy dreams, Mom's love embracing me.

Next morn up and at 'em, run down to the kitchen and see.

Wafts of delicious cinnamon scents linger all about.

There they are! I see them! There is no doubt.

Thanks Mom!

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One of my fondest, most enduring memories of childhood are the aroma and taste of Mom's cinnamon buns. When we were kids Mom would often bake cinnamon buns after we three girls were asleep in bed. As I reflect back on those special memories, the word LOVE resonates.

Mom made cinnamon buns for us most of her life, including times when she visited us and we visited them. Her's were, without a doubt, my favorite! Most versions of cinnamon buns I find far too sweet. Mom's were just right. The taste of her delicious bread perfectly balanced with the filling. She didn't add icing. The smell of Mom's freshly baked cinnamon buns couldn't be more delicious.

She rolled out the dough, sprinkled cinnamon and a moderate amount dark brown sugar, rolled it into a log and sliced the roll. Mom would baste them with melted butter, let them rise a little more, then into the oven. Only as an adult did I realize how much time Mom put into this loving task.

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Written for this week's TuesdayCreations theme of smells.

©️ Karen Howells. (B&W photo of Mom taken by Dad in 1958)

Ceramic bell sounding nigh onto fifty years.

Handcrafted wedding gift from a young artist.

Chris' school chum later became world renowned luthier.

Our bell combines his artistry in shapes and sounds.

Intriguing images whether silent or sounding in the wind.

Wise owl on one side, primitive man on the other.

Images and sound have stood the test of time.

From bitter cold, to scorching sun.

From gentle breezes and blowing gales.

Throughout our marriage lasting sounds remain.

A constant companion be it day or night.

A familiar sound, a familiar sight.

Unchanging over decades it faithfully resounds.

From soft and gentle, to clanging alarms.

Wind direction, speed known by its timber.

Noreasterlies ring loud and clear.

Mellow, haunting as south winds draw near.

Tintinnabulating, gentle, soft, dulcet, distant.

Clarion, brazen, discordant, strident, present.

Enduring yet ever changing sounds of our life so dear.

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Chris went to highschool with David Iannone, and fortuitously, he too moved to Victoria in 1974 to attend university. When I met David in Victoria, I soon discovered he was a talented musician and artist. When we announced our engagement in 1977, he gifted us a beautiful ceramic bell. A few years later David apprenticed as a luthier and soon became successful guitar maker.

His bell remains one of our most treasured possessions.

A few years ago, we noticed the bell clapper seemed to be hanging lower and not ringing as often. When we investigated we realized David's bronze handcrafted chain had stretched and was worn very thin over the hook that held it high over our deck. It was about to break! We are so grateful we were able to repair it before it fell and broke.

“Play music. Be happy. Hear the passion.”

Quote from David Iannone's Morgan Guitars website ( https://www.morganguitars.com/ )

As an interesting aside to the Time Has Come community, I learned at our Saskatoon Farm gathering, that Donny Mac purchased a Morgan guitar years ago.

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Written for a recent TuesdayCreations theme on sound.

Photos and writing ©️ Karen Howells, July 2026

I lived in sure and certain hope nonetheless.

I was told it was foolish to have faith I would flourish.

I had faith to move mountains nonetheless.

I was ignored, mocked, shown no love from the world.

I reached out with love to all nonetheless.

My love was embraced by the Creator's love and protection.

No torrential rain and hail assailed me.

Bestowed with God's sacred virtues, how could I fail?

Blessed with just enough water, just enough light.

I grew tall, bending where needed, bringing beauty to this desolate place.

Peering out from this hiding place.

Returning grace for grace.

My seeds set with faith, hope and love.

Will burst forth next spring.

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Written for this week's TuesdayCreations challenge to write about photo of a flower blooming through a crack in concrete. Providencially, I noticed this beautiful columbine blooming through patio stones under the edge our deck. After our stormy weekend, it was the only columbine flower that remained in our yard. All those planted and nurtured in our gardens were beaten down by driving rain and hail.

©️Poem and photo Karen Howells

Celebrating Our Glorious Creator

Gloria - Vivaldi

As I consider and ponder all that is going on in my life

Why is it so hard to recall in uncertainty and in strife

Only in God is my soul at rest.

As I face decisions, discernment what's next for me

Why do I forget many times or fail to clearly see

Only in God is my soul at rest.

When I'm trying to control, determine the best way

Asserting my will not His as I meditate and pray

Only in God is my soul at rest.

As I fret and worry of cares beyond my control

It veils my vision of beauty, joy, love to behold

Only in God is my soul at rest.

I know that a deeper peace awaits me this very day.

As I keep in my thoughts, remember to sing and pray ...

Only in God is my soul at rest.

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Beautiful hymn Only In God (Talbot

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Written for TuesdayCreations challenge to write a poem with a repeating line.

Inspired by Psalm 62.

Photos and poem ©️ Karen Howells

I have been abundantly blessed in so many ways.

Grace upon grace bestowed to this very day.

Why Grace gifted to me? God alone can say.

Some born into hunger, war, slavery, abuse.

Some abandoned, neglected, lonely, recluse.

Some homeless, penniless, hopeless, obtuse.

There but for the Grace of God go I.

I did not earn nor deserve the life I've been gifted.

Through challenges, pain, sorrow, always uplifted.

Loved, accompanied, never alone when afflicted.

It's a holy mystery until the veil is lifted.

Bestowed with talents, curiosity, passions, steady nerve.

Strong mind, open heart, desire to accompany, to serve.

Following God's path for me from which I dare not swerve.

"By the Grace of God I am what I am"

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Written for TuesdayCreations theme of Grace.

Photos ©️ Karen Howells

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Moved hither and yon from coast to coast at her father's whim.

Met the love of her life as a young teen on eastern shores.

When her father left, returned to West Coast with her mother.

Dad soon followed, heeding God's call to a life of love.

Mom was brilliant, talented, excelled at all she chose to take on.

Extraordinary student, entering university at sweet 16.

First vocation was wife and mother until we girls were in school.

She and Dad were determined to gift their children loving, stable family life.

Balance of structure and freedom, responsibility and follow your heart.

Mom always clever, creative, providing wonderful experiences regardless of limited means.

Great cook, sewist, activities coordinator, loving mom.

My childhood filled with opportunities in music, photography, sports, recreation, education.

Always there for a hug, shoulder to cry on.

Celebrating successes, helping us learn from mistakes.

On one learning occasion I impetuously inscribed "Bummy Mummy" in my dresser.

Words written in indelible ink, I couldn't take back!

In mere hours I knew she was right, yet 6 decades later the inscription remains.

Mom was a just and fair disciplinarian, font of wisdom and strength.

Next vocation, over 30 years an educator.

Teacher, first woman VP in Burnaby.

With Dad, published a text book used across the land.

Then principal of school for incarcerated girls, changing lives of so many.

All the while continuing to be there for her family in so many ways.

Mom and Dad retired early, traveling around Canada and the world.

Famous places and those rarely traveled in their day.

Added ice dancing, writing a mystery novel, to their pursuits.

As her beloved developed Alzheimer's Mom's vocation as caregiver unfolded.

As with all she did in life, Mom was a quintessential caregiver.

I asked one day how she could carry this burden for years on end.

She opened a cupboard door in every room.

There posted was scripture ...

"Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable; it keeps no record of wrongs;  it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things ... And now faith, hope, and love remain, these three, and the greatest of these is love."

This passage sums up who my Mom was for me.

After Dad passed, Mom's life became focused on heaven.

Longing to be with her beloved in eternity.

Even at that Mom excelled.

Striving to live life to the fullest in face of great grief.

Travels continued, started singing lessons at 70, performed in community choirs and musicals.

Discovering her lyric soprano voice, we started singing duets.

Finally, her light began to dim as sadly, dementia crept in.

A light that shone brilliantly for over 80 years.

I treasure memories of my Mom, amazing wife and mother, educator and caregiver.

By her words, her example, her encouragement

Instilled confidence that I like she, could do anything I put my mind to.

Love you always Mom

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Written for TuesdayCreations on the theme of Motherhood.

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Traditional hymn written for Jesus' mother often sung in May. It calls to mind my beautiful and saintly mother.

Having been supported and encouraged by others throughout my life, I often feel called to encourage others. When the TuesdayCreations theme of Encouragement was announced last week, I spent some time pondering the direction I wanted to take. As this week unfolded I realized how deeply I appreciateed the encouragement I had received by the grace of God during the years of ministry I accompanied those seeking Baptism. I also treasured how others felt encouraged by my words, actions and prayers. In describing their personal experiences during my retirement reception, I was reminded of the many shapes and forms encouragement can be offered and received. As I sought to encourage others, there were countless times when God gave me the words. That feeling was often transcendent. In the moment, I felt like an observer hearing the words God gave me.

Thoughts of giving and receiving encouragement fills my heart as I reflect on my past, present and future. There are so many ways we can choose to encourage one another. Being open to encouragement from others often requires humility. Encouragement truly is a precious gift to receive and to offer others.

Encouragement is an act of love.

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This poem, written by Amanda Lotito, who journeyed in RCIA last year, beautifully expresses the impact of giving and receiving encouragement. Thank you Amanda!

🌷 A Poem for Karen,

You changed my life.

A bright smile and a warm hello

One of a kind

A diamond of the rarest find

Comforting, caring, creative, clever

You are the most exceptional mentor ever

Boundless knowledge

Your legacy we acknowledge

Roots have been planted

A garden you have sown

A heartfelt thank you to you

Your love in every stone

For a deeper, divinely love

Celebration and appreciation, dear Karen

Our lovely little dove

Yet! Don’t fret! Don’t be blue!

A beautiful tune will still be heard from the church pew

You shared your life’s passion, guided us and graced us

With it came wisdom and wit -

You made RCIA classes lit! 🔥

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These excerpts are from the heart-warming remarks Rachael Lehman offered as she described her RCIA journey with her son. Rachael referenced encouragement and went on to describe what that experience felt like for her; compassion, love, deeply personal, acceptance, embracing questions, patience, openness...

Thank you Rachael!

"Dear Karen,

With deep gratitude and admiration, I write to honour and celebrate your remarkable service after 40 years devoted to RCIA at Sacred Heart.

RCIA is not simply a program; it is a journey of transformation. For so many, you have been the steady companion on that journey—offering wisdom, encouragement, and compassion at every step. Your ability to teach with both clarity and love has made the teachings of the Church come alive in a deeply personal way.

On a personal note, Marcus’ and my baptism was so special—truly a memory I will hold near and dear to my heart. Your presence, guidance, and care made that moment even more meaningful, and it is something I will always be grateful for. I also want you to know how much it meant to me that I always felt accepted by you, even when I doubted myself. I always had so many questions and you embraced that. As someone so new on my Catholic journey, your patience and openness gave me confidence and peace.

I didn’t realize how much better my life would be with God so deeply embedded in it, and I truly credit you with helping to open that door for me. Because of your guidance, my faith feels real, personal, and present in my everyday life—and that has changed me in the best way ..."

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Photos taken by Dan Lebsack and others during the retirement reception.

Most wishes relive memories of what used to be.

First thoughts were feelings of joy, exhilaration, freedom.

On horseback, its giddy up and away.

I'm a child in Caribou country riding range and trail.

Atop a small horse named Pedro, an ornery Red Roan.

Survived his vast repertoire of tricks to be rid of riders.

With but one foot in a stirrup we are off to the races.

Better hang on tight!

Cinch bound devil, under went the saddle, off went me.

Full gallop through aspen, picking just the right tree.

Swept off the saddle again and again, down I go.

As I wised up to Pedro's tricks he gave up the battle.

We reached a truce, flying together like the wind.

Soon we were pals, happy to charge ahead or meander.

Hours together riding, grooming, just hanging out.

The next summer still pals, riding off with great glee.

No small thanks to Pedro's tutelage I became a good rider.

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I wrote this for this poem for TuesdayCreations theme, "wishes". Many of us in the Time Has Come community are on a 12 week journey with Graham Wardle, following a book called the Artist's Way. One of our tasks for last week's chapter was to make a wish list. Having lived a rich, creative, active life, my wishes were not of things I was yet to try. They were of past things I loved and I can no longer do. In a split second the word horses filled my mind with wonderful memories, feelings and emotions. These were of some of the many wonderful times in my life.

As a child our family would go horseback riding, including staying at guest ranches for days or weeks at a time. Through those childhood experiences, I grew in both equestrian passion and skill.

My poem focuses on memories of times spent as a child at the historic Flying U Guest Ranch on Green Lake near 70 Mile House in the northern interior of BC. In those days most guests, including our family, camped and there were just a couple of old cabins and a small convenience store. I was also able to indulge my passion for finding indigenous stone tools at the Flying U.

When I moved to Calgary in my early twenties to marry the love of my life, I enthusiastically took advantage of living in cowboy country. Most Saturday mornings, and an evening or two a week from spring through autumn, Chris was off to the golf course and me to Elbow Valley Riding Stables just west of Calgary. Within 15 minutes from our front door I was happily in the saddle free to explore hundreds of scenic acres of foothills country, with the beautiful Rocky Mountains rising off to the west. Except on occasions when I brought guests, it was just me and at times accompanied by our dog Sasha, riding where I pleased.

As a young rider I fell off many times and took it all in stride. I was young and strong enough to bounce not break. I felt confident and thought of falls as a chance to learn from my mistakes. In my early 40s arthritis began to take its toll and fear of falling off crept in. I took several lessons from a professional Cutting Horse cowboy which restored my confidence for a few more years. Reluctantly, I decided to give up riding as fun gave way to pain, uncertainty and worry.

"If wishes were horses", I wish I could ride again ... pain free, worry free.

My Mom and me riding together, Elbow Valley west of Calgary in 1980. Photo taken by my Dad.

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Recent Video

Flying U Guest Ranch, BC

In my teens came my first good camera, a Minolta. That was followed in my mid-twenties with the camera I had the longest, a snazzy Nikon, with all kinds of lenses, filters, tripods and other bells and whistles. We bought our first digital camera when Chris retired in 2009, which seemed pretty good at the time. But it's quality pales in comparison to my current smartphone camera (Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra). Its ability to capture things from a distance and in very challenging light conditions is amazing. This camera led to my latest passion for capturing moon shots.

I hope you enjoy this small sample of 60 years of enjoyment. I've grouped several together to manage Substack's limits on images. Comments on the photos tell their story.

(For TuesdayCreations theme Photographs. All photos by Karen Howells ©️)

My first photographs were taken in 1966 at age 10. My sister Lynn standing beside Niagra Falls and a demonstration of old farming techniques at the historic Upper Canada Village in Ontario.

Courtney Youth Music Camp in early ‘70s. When I wasn't practicing or performing, you could find me behind my camera looking for cool shots.

Silver Star Mountain, Vernon BC. Developed and printed myself in early 70s … negative image on gold paper.

My first selfie in the early 80s at Beacon Hill Park, Victoria BC … with the same hat on as my dear friend Lucy Bernas 40 years later. In those days selfies involved tripods and shutter timer.

I love flower close ups. Christmas cactus taken in the 90s and peony 2 years ago

I was the ‘official’ photographer for Chris and Jim's rock band in the early 80s. Decades later, I took photos at a community event along with young Ben. For over 30 years I was the ‘unofficial’ Howells family photographer for weddings, feasts and other gatherings. I much preferred to be behind the camera.

Sky scapes at Golf course recently and at our former Sundre acreage in early 2000s. I love how my amazing smartphone camera can handle straight on sun shots.

Many of my photos tell stories of special time in my life. The photo of the wonderful joy captured of a young lad being baptized is one of my favorites from over 40 years of lay ministry. The photo of guys surrounding their friend who was just baptized, is not a great photo. Nevertheless it's precious as it reminds me of an incredible story of redemption and joy. The guy in the white gown was rescued from the dark side of Vancouver life by his posse of former school pals. When they discovered how far off the rails their friend had gone, they brought him back to Calgary. They helped him deal with some very tough challenges and accompanied him to the baptismal font. He is now in seminary studying to be a Priest. So much more than just a photo to me!

My story of photography would not be complete without a few moon shots. This is my most recent passion, thanks to my current smartphone camera. It's advanced technology enables me to get shots that weren't possible for my previous equipment. It's such fun to be always on the lookout for that next great shot.

Metenoina As The Greeks Say (μετάνοια)

Turn my heart to God.

Thoughts, prayers, hope, will, actions.

Past lessons are grace.

The Call to Fast

Fasting from envy,

Pride, selfishness, and anger,

Ways I turn from God.

Giving Alms: Time, Talent Treasure

Witness to God's love.

Open, docile, time is now.

Giving from my heart.

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Special thanks to Dia Utterback for today's QOTD, inviting us to write a Haiku. With a lot on my plate until May, I had decided take a break from writing. But the ideas for poems keep on coming and at times I'm feeling preoccupied with those unexpressed thoughts. Perhaps this is a sign of being addicted to writing? Haiku seems like a good option for expressing my thoughts in fewer words ... poetic shorthand.

(Photo by Karen Howells ©️)

In solidarity striving for a more virtuous life. 

Treasure our January Virtue Party each year.

Opportunity to support each other we hold so dear. 

Our hearts are open to the Holy Spirit as guide.

Virtue, prayer partner, saint to be at our side. 

Virtues go deeper than values and goals. 

They are God's offer to all of graces untold.

My virtue this year,  grow in Gratuitous Love. 

Means so much more than a smile or hug.

Serving those in need with no recompense. 

To some this may make very little sense.

Morning prayer, Gratuitous Love is my heart's sway.

At night I ponder how tomorrow's a better day.

St. Bernard highlights foundations Christ's teachings laid.

"Love that does not know how to give freely is not love but trade.”

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Jesus’ Parable of the Banquet:

“He said also to the one who had invited Him, ‘When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.’ ” Luke:14

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Last week, a Catholic lay charism that I am a member of, Regnum Christi (Christ the King), held our annual Virtue Party. It's a fun event as we gather as friends and as sisters in Christ. It also serves as a wonderful opportunity for  spiritual growth. We eat, we drink, we pray, we share testimonies, we laugh, we cry, and we think about ways we can grow together in faith, hope and love. Often its the recent sorrows we share that draws us even closer. 

The heart of the evening is to discover our new Christian virtue, prayer partner and a saint to focus on for the year. The random draws we make, adds to the fun and solidarity in discovering each other's spiritual challenges for the year. It also provides an opportunity to be open and docile to the guidance of the Holy Spirit. We know each other well enough to be able to appreciate the synchronicities and ironies in what we each draw. Such a fun and fruitful way to begin the New Year.

It’s time to fish. Come one and all!

Graham’s Magic Painting Challenge of months ago,

Became today’s path as my thoughts ebb and flow.

Colors, shapes, how do I feel?

New call to fish makes my painting more real.

Images, recollections come flooding in.

Filling my heart, warmth from within,

Safe, content, loved and free.

Deep connections with Eagles, Mom, Dad and me.

Our canvas canoe, painted glacial green,

Strong oak structure varnished to a gleam.

Dad astern, me midship, and Mom leads at the bow,

Each donned our brimmed hat atilt, just so, to shade our brow.

We seek places where Eagle and Osprey fish.

Our Creator’s sign of abundance, His grace and gift.

Raptors soar, circle, dive from a great height,

Fish in their talons soon give up the fight.

Time to cast and trail a line from my rod.

To entice Kokanee, my ‘Skinny Minny’ jig does the job.

Clear, cool, calm deep lake,

Ponderosa Pine, Douglas Fir guard at land’s gate.

Great granite cliffs with sparkling quartz,

Hidden beaches to picnic and to explore.

Silent while fishing, now heading home,

Favorite seafaring songs set a joyful tone.

We return to camp with riches and tales.

Plenty of fish for the fire, after gutting, cleaning scales.

Should have seen the big one that got away.

And ancient Salish Kekule dwellings, dug deep in the clay.

Most treasured of all, the memories of love.

At the Creator’s special place where Eagles circle above.

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For the story behind my poem please enjoy my video:

Time to Fish - Where Eagles and Osprey Soar

Music on video composed and performed by Benjamin Howells.
Painting on video by Benjamin Howells.
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Karen Howells

Opus 6, July 12, 2023

Calgary AB

Written for Graham Wardle's writing challenge: Time to Fish, posted on his Time Has Come private Mighty Works network.

Reposted on Substack for December 2025 TuesdayCreations theme, “Things that Fly”

(Screenshot from Ellison Park Website)

Ben's painting of my Time To Fish poem.

The cove beside the cliff where we would fish shown in 1938. Unfortunately the Pilot House was not preserved before the land was sold to government for a park.

The cliff is out of the photo to the left. About 200 yards beyond the shore are two ancient Salish Kekule (indigenous pit dwelling and pit food storage).

Taking in wonders delight soul, mind and eye.

Beauty to behold, inspiring questions of why?

I wonder why I'm here at this time and place.

The wonders of living, being loved, bestowed grace upon grace.

God always present yet veiled. I long to behold Him face to face.

I treasure nature's daily wonders there for all who care to see.

Curious about Crossbill finches bright red in our spruce tree.

Pondering its strange twist of nature, a marvelous wonder to me.

I wonder as I wander the magnificent Gulf Islands sea shore.

Why some Orca pods thrive others may soon be no more.

Transients travel far and wide hunting for sea mammals and varieties of fish.

While the resident pod stay close to home, Chinook salmon their only wish.

I wonder as I wander about new wonders to unfold.

After millennia Aspen groves reveal their great story, how they have grown.

Science reveals these forests are mysterious and expansive natural clones.

I wonder as I wander out under the sky.

Whom I'm meant to be, when, where and why.

Eternal questions to wonder, as time passes by.

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My poem barely scratches the surface of wonders I have pondered along my graced journey of life. The Creator has blessed me with the gift of curiosity and of intimate encounters of His omnipotence, omniscience and omnipresence in His very creation.

One example is the seemingly ordinary Aspen. I remember as a child loving the sight and sound of the shimmering leaves of the Trembling Aspen trees. I was astounded to learn as a child from my hero Mr. McNaughton, how those leaves were designed by the Creator to do its thing ... tremble. Unike other trees, the stem goes into the leaf at a right angle, creating a very delicate tipping point. With barely a breath of wind, they tremble. I felt the same sense of wonder and excitement when I later learned about modern scientific evidence proving that Aspen do not come into being as individual trees, but as enormous clones with identical DNA, growing off the same massive root systems. A marvelous wonder indeed, leaving me still to wonder ... why?

I wonder every time I see them, why the Red Crossbills developed their strange bills. It is perfectly suited to their unusual way of extracting seeds from native Spruce and Pine cones. Many other bird species have no problem eating these same cone seeds using different techniques necessitated by their normal bills.

I wonder about the perilous situation of the Orca that reside only around the Gulf Islands. Why is their territory and food source (only Chinook Salmon) so limited? The healthy, abundant 'Transient' Orcas have expansive ocean routes they travel in search food. They thrive by eating a wide variety of fish and mammals, both large and small. During the annual herring runs that enter Nanoose Bay (where my family lives on Vancouver Island), Transient Orca come right into the bay to eat the herring, and the seals that also come for herring. Sadly the endangered Resident Orca don't come to feed on this annual bounty that attract other whales, seals, sea lions, otters, and a variety of birds. Why?

Much of my wonderment has come through God given curiosity and through my love and appreciation of the world around me ... both exterior and interior; human and divine, transcendent and tangible. Even during a short walk around our city crescent, I love to look, listen, breathe in and ponder the many graces, blessings and wonders of my inner being, and of the people and world around me. I do wonder about those out walking by with ear buds plugged in and head cast down to their phones. They miss so many every day and extraordinary wonders of the world.

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Karen Howells

December 18, 2023 — Revised December 8, 2025

First published on the private Mighty Works network.

Inspired by TuesdayCreations themes in 2023 and 2025, and by the Christmas carol, ‘I Wonder As I Wander.’

Julie Andrews — I Wonder As I Wander

https://youtu.be/CFv-Q1TCQ3Y?si=qb5f5i5HrHQjHRwg

I Wonder as I Wander sung by Julie Andrews

My husband, Chris, pondering the beauty of Waterton Park as the Aspen recover from the 2017 forest fire — clones with identical DNA sprouting up from their massive root system that survived the fire.

I wonder as I wander and ponder at Nanoose Bay (photo by Benjamin Howells)

Aspen groves at our former Sundre acreage.

The unique Crossbill (screenshot from online public image)

Tradition awakens me.

Tradition grounds me.

Tradition fullfils me.

Tradition embraces me.

Tradition inspires me.

Tradition challenges me.

Tradition motivates me.

Tradition speaks to me.

Tradition comforts me.

Tradition guides me.

Tradition completes me.

Tradition opens my heart.

Tradition is grace and blessing.

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I am very much drawn to tradition in most parts of my life. I have been that way for as long as I can remember. When Chris and I were first getting to know each other,  he described me as an old soul. I think that was his recognition of me being drawn by tradition. When Huey Lewis and the News came out with the hit song Hip to Be Square, Chris chose that as my anthem. I tried to make the case for Steppenwolf's Born to Be Wild, but that was a hard sell! . 

In my spiritual life, I am drawn to the long arch of tradition. In my late teens and twenties, I church-hopped, or should I say church-hoped for six years. I found many beautiful communities of faith and was always warmly welcomed. Yet, I felt something was missing or incomplete. It wasn't until I checked out the Catholic Church that I felt I had found my spiritual home. And as I began reading the writings of the early Church, that connection to tradition grew deeper. Realizing that the writings about the teachings and traditions of the Church from the first few centuries are as relevant today as they were 1,700 to 1,900 years was life changing for me. I also love that the music in any given Mass spans the centuries and millennia. 

In my personal life, I enjoy the rhythm of life filled with family and personal traditions, from childhood to today.  

I am intentional in maintaining a disposition of readiness to let go of past traditions and adopt new ones when the time is right. Chris' and my traditions have grown and changed over the past 50 years. Nevertheless, we continue to keep, and to take up new traditions as an intentional part of our life together. For example, yesterday was the first week of our Tuesday winter tradition started a few years ago of going to the Country Club for indoor golf for Chris and indoor walks for me. It felt good to restart that winter tradition. 

I thank God for the gift of tradition in my life.

Off for a drive in the country one day, heading south on Range Road 43.

Light fresh snow on the road, animal  tracks meandering and carefree.

To the west stood snow capped Rockies, blue skies above to see.

Then suddenly all hell broke loose, no way to understand.

Something big came crashing in and smoke filled our van.

A hit to my head so fast and hard, felt like an iron frying pan. 

In that moment of terror time slowed as life passed before my eyes.

Trying to grasp what just happened, did a meteor fall from the sky?

Hit the brakes, stayed on the road, thankfully no traffic nearby.

Stunned, shocked and afraid, sharp pain in my head, neck, and face.

Seconds passed like minutes, trying comprehend what just took place.

Finally we realized our airbag blew though driving at a leisurely pace.

What did we hit to cause this event, a mystery to figure out.

Looked for evidence in the fresh snow to see what this was about.

To our surprise and bewilderment no sign as to cause of the clout.

Remains a mystery what happened that day down our road in the country.

While still a traumatic experience, an unpleasantly vivid memory.

Yet so grateful we weren't on the highway, how deadly that could be.

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As I write about this tale of Range Road 43, I can still feel that sudden sickening brutal smack to the head, neck and upper chest. Needless to say, I had a concussion, with symptoms lasting for months.  Chris and I were driving from our Sundre acreage to visit friends in Olds about a half hour away. Most of the drive was to be on a very busy 2 lane highway. So as awful an experience as this was, we are so grateful it happened on our very quiet dead end country road. 

The spontaneous deployment of our airbag was never solved, despite an international investigation by both Canadian and US GM engineers. Chris was mostly unscathed, but because I was driving, the steering wheel airbag really clobbered me. This was before airbags were modified after some deaths caused by their deployment. 

Nevertheless, Range Road 43 remains very special in our memories. Not only is it the location of our beloved former acreage of 26 years, 100km straight south is the Our Lady of Peace Mission Cairn with special connections to Chris' Métis ancestors. We continue to make new memories on Range Road 43, including with some of my Time Has Come friends. 

(Range Road 43 near Bragg Creek)

(This photo taken by Dia Utterback)

Written for TuesdayCreations Theme Down the Road

Karen Howells

November 2025

Her message, God loves us whether we be lost or found. 

She witnessed and taught of a radical love.

Beyond human reason or capacity to understand. 

Coming from our Creator's very essence.

Pure transcendent, divine, perfect love.

She would share the good news for us all. 

Faith, hope and love for the lost and found.

Parable of the lost coin so simple and true.

We fervently seek what is lost.

Here, there, everywhere with steadfast intent.

Then great rejoicing, when what was lost is found 

Parable of the Good Shepherd who knows and loves his sheep. 

Each and every one of us by name. 

If I should wander and lose my way.

He sacrifices all to find and bring me home.

Parable of the lost son reveals the Father's love for the lost.

He gives His all to those among His flock.

Bestowing us with freedom to stay or wander away.

And when His lost return, He prepares a feast.

He came not to condemn but to save.

There is great rejoicing in heaven when His lost are found.

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The late Sister Darlene was a remarkable woman. She was intellectually brilliant, spiritually radiant and by nature, loving and inspiring. I had the pleasure of participating in several of Sr. Darlene's seminars and retreats over the years. I always came away feeling inspired and restored. 

When I first met Sr. Darlene, I thought her countenance seemed a bit aloof. As soon as she spoke, her beautiful, loving spiritual countenance shone through. I later learned that she suffered a serious eye injury in her youth which resulted in facial health challenges the rest of her life. For several years I arranged evening retreats for my RCIA participants on what she liked to call Luke's lost and found department.  

Sr. Darlene was remarkably intelligent and well educated. As a gifted story teller and musician her retreats were always engaging and often life changing. She would lead a short meditation to imagine what it would be like to witness the great rejoicing in heaven when any one of God's beloved creation that had been lost, were then found. 

I also love to meditate on the image of the father, who when he sees his lost son from far off, runs out to greet him. The night after my Dad died, I was blessed with a vivid dream of God running out to greet Dad, who had been lost in the fog of dementia and thanks be to God, is found.

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Written for TuesdayCreations theme “Lost and Found”.

Karen Howells, November 2025

Horror, fear, unknown destiny and delicious frights.

Yet there are the true stories of horrifically evil sights.

On All Hallows Eve I pray for our family's beloved dead.

And asking for prayers of saints whose stories I have read. 

And of martyrs, thrown to lions, set afire, then severed head. 

True witness of horrors greater than fables told before bed. 

Saints Perpetua and Felicity were martyred in two hundred and three.

Thrown into arenas with wild beasts,  horrors that crowds gathered to see.

A noble woman and her pregnant slave before God in faith and equality.

Where once it was the work under Roman Empire tyranny.

Now equally dark hearts of hate  perpetuate evil with glee. 

Christians martyred by the millions and shown no humanity.

Perpetua and Felicity's demise are but two gruesome stories of treachery.

Martyrdom now perpetrated on tens of thousands of Christians annually. 

No mere Halloween tales but past and present hideous reality.

So as we revel in the fun of Halloween night.

Offer a prayer and contemplate reality's plight.

With their last breath brave martyrs fought the good fight. 

Perpetual and felicitous prayer.

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As long as there have been Christians there have been martyrs. In the first 3 centuries of Christ's Church, all 33 Popes of that era were martyred, along with scores of Bishops and Priests and many of the faithful. Saints Perpetua and Felicity were from Carthage, where persecution and martyrdom ran rampant. St. Cyprian wrote about this reality in Carthage in the 200's and soon after was martyred himself. 

The level of persecution and martyrdom is as dire today in many areas of the world. There were more martyrs in the 20th century than all previous centuries combined. And in the 21st Century, Christians are experiencing even higher levels of persecution, especially in areas under radical Islamist and Communist control. The world is now averaging close to 200,000 martyrs annually and Church burnings are rampant, including in Canada. It seems to be of little concern to the UN, most governments, and mainstream media alike. 

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St. Cyprian's Epistle:

https://www.crossroadsinitiative.com/media/articles/martyrdom-of-pope-sixtus-cyprian/

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My poem on Canadian Church burnings, "St. Bernard of Grouard".

https://open.substack.com/pub/karenhowells/p/st-bernard-of-grouard?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=2xwkop

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Karen Howells, October 29, 2025

Written for TuesdayCreations theme for Halloween.