I felt a whisper calling me here. Drawing me in the way a mother picks up her baby and holds her close to her heart.
Off the ferry and onto the island, turn left and then go straight onto lover’s lane. Just like the street I grew up on; Amantes.
Welcome to Orcas Island.
Wonder is not contained to the vast beauty at the top of Mt. Constitution, but in the tiny wild blackberries strewn along the side of the road. The irony of birds bathing in a pothole of water. Purple bell shaped flowers; church is in session. Eye contact with a grazing deer. A vibrant flower stand that runs on good faith and a cash box. Masculine and feminine energies equally meet in this vortex of centered, grounded, whimsy. It’s true, there’s really nothing like summertime in the Upper Left, USA.
Home is the memory of my soul, the knowing of a person or place not on experience, but on inner knowing. The tree of my soul matching the canopy of enchanted forest green all around me.
I wonder, does everyone feel at home on Orcas Island?