Autumn on the Island

"I let myself go into the passing landscape as the Greyhound races over the Malahat. Raindrops tear across the window pane and the forest blurs a golden green red rust perfection. From this warm, dry seat I traverse this wilderness of fog and mystery in relative coach comfort.

I place myself in these woods, down paths over spongy undergrowth and through a thousand stories waiting patiently for my arrival, each one held in the gem drops of moisture on the tips of the fragrant pine needles. I can smell the tales and taste them in this silty, salty, coastal soil. I am here and here again and at once with the past and future colliding in the big bang of the present.

There are fireplaces and books and peaceful moments with your head in my lap as I read you the story you have always wanted to hear, the one you never knew existed but it has always been right here in our shared cellular structure, in this peaceful place of perfection.

It is autumn, my love. You can rest easy here with a lullaby of golden leaves dancing down from these ancient trees."

-Gillian Cornwall, October 22, 2011.