A land that I call home Free for me to roam Its coastlines of stone To mountains throne

I love not the fuel, I do not love the rain, I have no heart for tool, But the alpine calls my name

The vehicle I call my own Darkest green perfect home Wheels became my roots Through temperate rainforest routes

Ragged breath follows Like my shadow upon the soil My footsteps echo in the hollows Like the heartbeat from my toil

Push past the brush, the trees, the rivers Boulders and talus remain The horizon burns and the mountain shivers Deepest orange and indigo paint sky and sea

A sight so beautiful, Familiar colors on a new scene I belong in the mountains, But I kayak the seas I am an alpine hiker, And I swim the lakes

Because the land that I roam Is intentionally where I call home

Vancouver Island is a place of contradictions, temperate rainforests and alpine peaks, rocky coastlines and sheltered bays. My truck (“The Mothership,” as my friends call it) has taken me to most of it, and I’m still discovering new corners.