So Shall We Adventure

Oh my, I was not expecting this. But here's what I did know...

There would be adventures. 

Fox meets hounds. Three, to be exact. It was the first day. I had spent a weary night tired from the day's travel's in a cozy dorm.  In the morning, sipping my coffee in gratitude I introduced myself to the boys. There was Thane, Felix and Danny. That afternoon we went hiking.

I was delighted by the wild, woolly redwoods and more species of mushrooms than I've ever seen at once. The air is fresh. Alive. I touch the softness of the moss, thick with last night's rain. I wish the boys didn't feel the need to rush through such beauty. I'm grateful for the experience, however. I find myself amused by their puppy dog playfulness as they bound over fallen logs; I chase after them, feeling like Wendy running with the Lost Boys.

 I had been growing weary of our leader's guiding abilities when he motions for us to veer right. The path narrows in to a densely vegetated trail that leads to a crumbling cliff face. Below, the waterfall roars in a melody unto its own. I can almost taste the dew. There is a rope securely fastened to a tree. Repelling? Oh hell yeah. Adrenaline courses through my veins, releasing the melancholy from moments before. Safely at the river's bank, I cross a slippery cedar bridge to the shale littered peninsula. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, feeling the mist against my skin. I could exist here forever. I am struck by the contrasting stillness of the ancient forest. Branch-less trees heavy with vibrant greens call out to my soul, "You have arrived."

Cut.

Nymph Falls

Nymph Falls
Cumberand, BC

Photo by Martin Gisborne
http://martingisborne.com/

My heart lives in permanent Summer. 

For when I go to punctuate the date
I am compelled to pen 'July'.

I am in an eternal state of revision,

Drifting just above the silver sunlight lined
                                                                 Clouded shelf

Skybox: An Examination

'Follow me home,

We will light the way.

For the darkness is but an illusion.'

The origins of this concept are perhaps years old, having manifested from my imagination during times of frustration. 

I have a problem with boxes--boxes and walls. I'm not a fan. They seem to me like self-imposed prisons in which we sentence ourselves, allowing visitation rights only on weekends. The lucky ones manage to escape for a meager two weeks each year. 

'All these boxes 

We build around ourselves

And yet

They do not

Cannot

Capture the richness of the sky.'

I observe Edmonton to be similar in composition. Buildings and roads, built upon a tidy grid. Lines and cars. Orderly. Predictable. Monotonous.

'Boxes. Layers upon layers of boxes,

Stacked neatly, side by side.

They call it city planning.

Too many crevices,

Corners for evil to hide.'

That is not to say that the city does not have its silver linings. Yet, I find myself growing bored with the routine. It is a sickness, an anxious voice, that creeps into my psyche every fortnight or three--"Run. Outside you are free." 

I have an affinity with adventure. To explore beyond that which is previously known gathers within me a deep happiness. In these moments I am truly alive. How I ache for such chaos. I pine for the wild. Out there is a stillness, a crispness that exhales like a mighty roar.  My greatest pleasure is to look upon a mountain vista, rich with trees, and to know that beyond those peaks there are little more than trees and trees and trees. No humans, no cars, no boxes. Just wild. 

Upon my return to the city in August, it became abundantly clear that my notion of boxes applies not only to physical dwellings, but to the clouds themselves. Edmonton has a way of closing in on itself when the clouds roll in. 

'Sometimes...

When the sky is dark and slate,

Illuminated by neither stars nor sunlight,

I feel alone.'

It's the stars I miss most, muted by a blanket of light pollution most nights. Yet, above the veil lies the vastness of the cosmos. If I close my eyes it almost feels like home.