Places Where I Hide

View this post on Instagram Places where I hide Featuring @thelittlestbit in @studio4athletics #dancestudio #expressivedance #victoria #vancouverisland #film #cinematography #videography #creativeproject #passionproject A post shared by Christian Michael Wiebe (@christian_michael_wiebe) on Jul 4, 2018 at 4:56pm PDT

the end of the day

when at the end of the night your soul finds itself in front of the mirror feet bare muscles stretching skin sweating. tired your day one of endless movement finally over the rhythms slip under your skin and the unwinding begins hips move feet point chin turns deftly to spot over and over and over….

The Things You Don’t Know

A woman yelled at me today, for running out of chicken wings. It was 7pm. and I get it you know, I really do. But it felt unfair and my tongue threatened to rise up on its own accord and tell the truth. It wanted to tell her how the dish washer didn’t show up…

The Secret of How it is to Live

Sometimes the way we feel at night (as if the secret of how it is to live hangs within our grasp) sinks deep into our consciousness and we find with surprise and unsurprise all in one breath that this knowing exists always instead of exclusively in the hours of in-between (quiet enough to hear the…

Letting Go.

Every time I run down a hill, I think of my high school cross country coach. The rocky path at Beaver Lake comes into my mind, and I can hear him talking. “Relax on the downhills. Let your stride lengthen. It’s here that you can make up ground. Most people you are running against are…

August 23rd, 2017 

It’s one of those days where I can see (faintly and smudgy against the horizon) where the idea that being a restaurant manager is glamorous comes from. My day starts languidly, rolling out of bed at 9:30am. I lounge in the sunshine on the back deck before jumping in the shower. Tossing around the desire…

Musings on Personal Power & Popsicles

This space has been quiet for more than a year. There isn’t much to say, except that it felt tonight like there were words inside of me that wanted to come out. They filled my head as last summer’s tayberries transformed, as if by magic, into popsicles. Most of this past year has been spent…

Leap year marmalade.

Plums roasted, sieved, boiled. Blackberries too. This year’s lemons cooked, scraped, sliced. Flavours build on each other as the seasons mingle, summer with fall, fall with winter, winter with sunlight. Gently layered this jam is like nothing else that I have made before. The elements blend so that you can’t tell where one ends and the…