Flashback

I had a dream this summer.


I opened my eyes, and found i was lying on my back. Warm sun beat down on me, un adulterated by clouds, a cool breeze snatching the heat away before it got too hot. I lay half in the shade of a pristine White Birch, it's tall, slender form branching out above me. The leaves, being tickled by the wind, chattered quietly, flashing back and forth between their pale undersides, and their vibrant, emerald tops. The sun's reflecting brightly at my eyes off the bark, a bleached white.

There's somthing under my back. A couple of things, actually, so I sit up.

The view itakes my breath away. I'm sitting along side, about four or five meters from, the shore of a huge lake. The ground is moist and healthy, covered in rich brown topsoil and detritus, scarreted with spots of rich, soft, green moss. A slender path wove it's way through a stand of tall Red Pine, wraps around a patch of Wood Sorrel, and cuts sharply to follow the shore, ending before a tight clump of Cedar trees. The trees are open in front of me, making a perfect window overlooking the lake. It's waters are clear and crisp, the surface glimmering, rippling in the gentle wind, its reflections twinkling like stars under the bright sun. The far shore is nothing but a hint, a suggestion of a forest, misted by the haze of distance, it's profile traced along the horizon.

I take a deep breath, and my lungs are filled with a fresh, healthy blast of air, just a little humid, carrying the musky, heady scent of decomposing forest floor, mixed with spores and pollen of all kinds. The cool air rishing into my lungs sends waves of contentment running over my body.

My stomach is full, and it feels warm and good. I look over and see a quaint little firebowl, flames bareley peeking over the edge of the bowl. There's a pot resting in the coals. It's steaming, top off. A whiff of spices is cought by the wind, and sent my way, hints of curry and ginger sneaking into my nostrils.

I yawn. And smile.

And then i realise; i'm not dreaming. I'm actually here, living my dreams.

Ever since i was young, i've known what i wanted to do. More specifically, i knew where i wanted to be. Out here, in the fresh, the free, the clean, the natural. So many months, so many years spent in the woods, and they've played host to my greatest memories, my best stories.

So why did i change? When did i forget about this? sure, i'm happy with where i am, but i'm still damn far from what makes me really happy. I've got to get back to that place, that state of mind. Shit, i have been, it costs me a decent ammount of cash to be able to do this every summer. But i dont want to vacation; i want to live this, day by day. It's so right.