he’s my dream in this real life, this real life’s all a dream.

 just six more days to wait.
then,
i’ll be living inside your pockets again,
in the creases of the memories,
scattered along the dream stained threads,
of our past and future,
living tucked inside the crystal brightness of our now now now.
it’s just six more days until we find our physical way back into the perfect, embodied space of love and loving. of easiness and hopefulness
together again. and all the waiting will be worth it,
as it always is.
we’ll be real-life dreaming.
hearts colliding.
changing the way we’re meant to be made, and it’ll be pulling me apart to pull us back and into one another,
double knotting the end to the start.
and so we forever go on.
there’s something so potent about the presence of your real-life flesh and blood.

the healing vibes of the great outdoors

i remembered what he said when he told me how the earth breathes. he told it to me in waterfalls, that man with missing teeth and black hair tucked behind his ears. he showed it to me, the heartbeat, the rise and fall of her lungs, the way she moved as earthly sounds spread, echoing across her skin. and it moved. it did. the earth, she breathes.

and i remembered this as i walked along a stretch of coastline that brought me back to myself. as i stopped and watched the clouds, the sea, moving and breathing with me as we tracked along steep cliffs that plummeted into the wild aquamarine. crashing waves and blackened rocks. rolling hills and rocky trails. trees and flowers and shrubbery. just three friends and me. we trekked lightly as she held us up and pushed us forward in soft wind and light shadows from rolling clouds above, all warmth and cool, just right and just enough.

i don’t know why i stayed away so long, when i know, i always know, one breath of clean, crisp air, one step into the wilderness, one more step away from all sounds of civilisation… and i’m free.

over the past little while

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i left carly and sun river with a pinch of sadness, a little reluctance, sure, but i knew it was the right time to move. i thumbed it and road tripped with logan. the boy with the guitar. he’s all pisces, through and through. like me. he made the ride a joy – jiving and joking, bouncing and buzzing off a way-too-big caramel macchiato. he reminded me of three people at once – but for the life of me i couldn’t tell you who.

i met morgan, here, in hood river, like it was no big deal. like we weren’t reuniting completely out of context. in her hometown. in a place where she keeps all her memories and stories, through forests, in waterfalls along ridge lines, through orchards and wineries.

today we hiked to tamanawas falls. i was [illogically] scared of bears. mountain lions. wolves. i was walking while adrenaline was pumping, hard through my veins, all the way to the end. to the waterfall, which fell wide and slim. cold water. a glacier runoff. don’t drink it. she laughed.

we scrambled across a rock face, loose and sturdy – who knew which was which – and found ourselves behind the falls. behind! do you believe it?! it was like magic. the water streaming down in front of us – looking back into the valley. into! do you believe it?! it was like magic. between the excitement and the adrenaline, i couldn’t think straight. we sat, for a minute. took photos. stared in relative silence [the sound of the falls overtaking all others] and marvelled. oh well done mother nature. well done. you served us well today. well done.

we climbed down moss rocks and mud to the base of the falls. to where the spray saturated us. to where we looked up and whirled with vertigo. [to where the water looked like it could brutalise, bury and rescue you, all at the same time.] i lost my feet and slipped, on my bum, down gravel rocks and wet. adrenaline now doing nothing more than making me yelp and warn morgan, below me, of our possible demise into the base of the waterfall.

alas! death did not come. not by falls, not by bear, not by sliding into a ravine [perhaps a place we shouldn’t have been.]

but thank you mother nature, for your kindness in keeping us safe. for your provision of a waterfall so goddamn, unimaginably, breathtakingly beautiful. for the hundreds or thousands of who-knows-what-happened years that formed this place in the very first place. oh man, this world. this land. this life. oh me oh my, this land this life.

the gorge.

we walked down steep steps, one by one. i walked and i didn’t think much. it was easy. it was beautiful. it was bushland and shrubbery and dry australiana. it was crisp. leaves crunched under my feet.

the further down we walked, the cooler, the damper, the fresher it became. until we reached the water. in the gorge.

we walked off the track. through the overgrowth, under the vines and branches and trees blocking our way. we walked over boulders and leaped from rock to rock, one slip would mean wetness to our knees and laughing off embarrassment. the sun on our backs we walked and leapt and tried not to slip.

the hills of the gorge grew tall either side of us, of the river, of me, milly and sam. they grew into the sky. i felt so small. feeble. no clouds passed above us. i sat and i asked milly to listen.

we stopped for a minute, we felt like fools. fools of nature, laughing at us in the wind through the trees, the running water filling itself, the crunch of sam’s steps in the dirt on the rocks, the frogs in the rock pools. birds above our heads.

it was incredible, breathtaking, unbelievable. frighteningly serene. we were alone.