Climbing the ghost of a glacier in the Ogilvies, and coming back down faster than the mountain would like.

A stolen glacier, a plum going soft, and a day in Dawson City that would not hold still.

A poem for the gossamer-winged butterflies of northern BC, and what such a small thing has to offer such a hard country.

A day on the Northern Sea Wolf, up the fjords to Bella Coola, reading the deep past in the rock.

Written somewhere between frozen landscapes, rocked to sleep by the rhythm of rails.

For the dreamers and the wanderers.

Vancouver Island isn’t just where I live, it’s where I belong.

Sometimes the best way to find yourself is to get thoroughly lost.

Inspired by Camus and countless kilometers of trail.