it's no longer an adventure i am sad

 I come alive when I am down island.
 I find myself and I have strength in every step.

 Oh! Qualicum, thank you that there was a Farmers Market on that day. Thank you for the lovely sweet vendor selling macreme plants who talked about how stories pour out as people remember when once macreme was everywhere before. I thought about my Mom and wondered then about her Mother and the whole handmade world that was around her. I thought about how I am certain that everything funky I love about the 70's is a recreation of the world where I was little and safe and seen and alive yet invisible all at once. Where a carpets feel and colour was as great as a forest now, and I could twirl a little curly bit of it around my finger in timeless revelry. I wonder if children are even remembering or is it just such a deep experience of the present that they are lost in.

I think it is the latter and that undoes me with happiness.

Oh! Qualicum, thank you for your waters always so warm and wavy. Thank you that I wadded much deeper than I'd planned and ended up floating on my back.

Thank you for the feeling of being a painting. I don't think I've felt that before.
Thank you that I thought to memorize that moment. Thank you that is wasn't fleeting.

Thank you for ripples on the sand. Clear white jelly fish. Grasses under water.
Large dark shadows that could be giant crabs or nothing at all.

It is not only the children. Not only the friends.
There is something even deeper that binds me to this island.
This down island, island.

This place not only of Mountains and Oceans but of Farms and animals too.
This place of living well and living fully.

Where there is music.
An ever changing flow of musicians.
Some that seem part of the land and others that are so unexpected.

Visitors and Locals, and some Travelling Locals. All at home, all drawn together.

Yes, I could learn an instrument. Wear silver sparkles beneath my eyes and eat tomatoes from my garden. But it feels like an invisible practice and silent celebration.

It is like I can live all the wonderful, but I'm muffled.
There is no echoe - no reply.

I know that all we need is ourselves, especially in a world of trees and water.
but i exist when i am seen and i am happy when the happiness is shared and i find the magic when it is revealed to me.

I want to see outside myself all that is within me.
I want to live in strange and mystical patterns.

I tried for so long to just follow what came, to listen, to re-birth slowly and deliberately..
but i lost the thread i was holding.. it blew away when i fell asleep.. and though i know it is somewhere.. caught on a branch or carried off by a bug.. 

I don't know if i have the strength to begin looking.

Whatever breeze carried it off will have to carry it back or else I will walk this earth lost, and while the poet in me loves what comes of that, the earthling just wants to be found.