The sky is overcast today. A cherry tree grows outside of my window. Not long ago, the tree was bursting with double-flowered pink blossoms, and now, few flowers cling to the tree’s branches. Flecks of pink are scattered in the green grass.

Two beehives sit beneath the tree. They are painted in pastel shades of lavender and green, the colour of brewed tea. The honeybees are tended to by my mom’s friend, a member of a local beekeeping club. Her hive swarmed—as they do at this time of year—and she needed to re-home them elsewhere. Beneath this tree turned out to be a good fit.

❦

🌷🌷🌷

I read a tweet earlier this week by poet Stephen Collis that said, "Writing prose is too hard. I need to stick to poetry. Prose breaks me. Poetry is just an open door, even if painful things sometimes pass through."

In some ways, I could relate.

Early last year, I set out to work on a series of essays and I've been surprised at how slow the process has been. I thought creative non-fiction was my genre, and yet, I found myself turning more and more to poetry in 2021 especially. I mentioned my difficulties of writing non-fiction in conversations with two separate writers: an essayist and a poet, while working at Deer Lake in Burnaby last month.

notes from spooky season

~ aka scorpio season ~

hello friends, this email is somewhat overdue, but I hope you are keeping well these days and had a happy halloween weekend.

I have been keeping busy this fall. The dog I was fostering was officially adopted (by my mom!) in September. I finished drafting the essay I spent most of this past year writing. I planted garlic again. A poem I wrote in the spring was . I've been reconnecting with friends. I submitted my chapbook (a slender collection of poems) to a small press. I watched leaves turn shades of red and golden yellow, then subsequently fall to the ground.

hi friends,

I hope you are well and taking care amidst the rising heat and work stress (according to an informal poll of my friends on social media) that is apparently rampant this week, most specifically in the arts & culture sector. Why are we so chronically underfunded and underresourced??? :(

It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything here, I know. My life feels like it got kinda turned upside down in the past month on account of lowkey depression, a case of stomach flu, project deadlines, and now, I am fostering a 7-year old dog from the SPCA.

This is Hoji (or Hojicha), which is what I am calling him on account of the fact that his coat looks like the colour of roasted tea. It is also a name that sounds similar to his old name “Oden” when you speak in dog voice:

hi friends,

It’s June. I’ve been feeling anxious lately. I’ve been writing some wacky poetry. And binge-watching terrible TV and not going on enough walks.

My friend Angela May drew this really cool digital portrait of me, based off a selfie.

Last weekend, Global Big Day took place, a birding event for people from around the world to come together to count and identify local birds. I found out about this from a bird ID app, which is both amazing and convenient to have on my phone. It’s essentially a Pokédex for birds (akin to a dichotomous key.) I now have a small bird repertoire which I can sight and listen to from my window. This has most often been a stellar’s jay lately, a beautiful blue-feathered bird who is, frankly, noisy af.

(Fun fact: Stellar’s Jay is the provincial bird of BC, in case you didn’t know!)

It seems like one of the few portals to connect with the rest of the world is through social media these days. As an artist, it feels like there is an unspoken expectation to be Known online and to be and have your work ‘Liked’ in this way.

Yet, there is something about being in the public eye that unnerves me.

Welcome to ritualistic, a newsletter by me, erica hiroko isomura.

I’m a writer, artist, and creative community connector (organizer, arts programmer, event producer/curator), for whatever that’s worth.