Dreamers Dream
By: Elle How
Tags: Mountains, Pirates, Plate Tectonics, Ontario, Africa

Dreamers Dream

I find a million thoughts make me travel around the world and back again, across centuries in an instant.

Photo by David Sam Levinson on Unsplash

I dream of a world back in the 1800s that tugs at my heartstrings where I envision the love and warmth of the family. The safety of the family unit brings up a slow pace of love and comfort. Days spent idly sipping a cool ice tea in a rocking chair on a grand porch. Huge sycamore trees arched their branches across a lawn of green. Wispy clouds bring in warm humidity from the gulf. The sheers blow through wide opened windows of a room so spacious I can fit my current home in it twice!

Other times I’m an intellectual, who soars around the world in a Lear jet. I spy the previous movements of the tectonic plates that shaped the various landscapes.

Photo by Kevin Wenning on Unsplash

Melting of the Columbian ice bridge ravaged the northwestern United States. It left a wasteland out to the Pacific Ocean. Potholes, called yolks, that are a thousand feet deep. Cuts in the land by bubbles of water that spun so quick, they were like underwater tornadoes.

Or whiz across the sky to see the Great African Rift Valley. Where the forces of the tectonic plates are ripping it apart.

The wrath of Mount Etna as her life's blood dances down her slope into the Mediterranean Sea.

Photo by Shawn Appel on Unsplash

The cold cold breath of Mount Everest taunts the climbers to climb yet that little bit more.

I can well imagine the yearning of each mountaineer to attain those great heights. Or the urge to scale the Rockie mountains in western Canada. Standing 9000 feet up on the edge, seeing nothing but mountains with their mirrored alpine lakes.

Photo by Irina Marie on Unsplash

Canoeing on Lake Superior and feeling the endless depths of her granite chambers. 100-foot pieces of granite a clear view down 100s of feet, water so clear and icy it freezes my veins to be on her.

The crash of magnificent waves into the Dungeons of Newfoundland. Yet further a sea, whales rear up to greet them where Marco Polo landed centuries ago.

The knowledge that pirates ruled from Newfoundland down to the warmth of the Tropics. It brings a whole new understanding of the Newfoundlanders.

Surrounded by the coolness of a huge iceberg that broke off from Greenland 9 months ago. The bewilderment is not dissimilar to that a newborn child.

Oft times, when I walk across an open lot in southern Ontario, the gentle reminder of tropical breeze tugs at my senses. The warmth of an evening spent in the land of long-dead pirates, romanticized in my vivid imagination.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Sometimes I can feel as if I have stepped into a canoe to ply the waters of an Ontario park. Heading out into the coolness of a spring day to once again portage through a mucky trail. Traversing forests onto the next lake. Shivering from the cold of the rain all day long. Aching for my tent and sleeping bag at the end of the day.

Photo by Lucas Ludwig on Unsplash

The ghosts of loggers, voyagers and the spirits of the indigenous people wrap around me to meld as one. Comfortable forefathers who guide me along to the secrets contained within these forests.

Then I have those days where I’m too busy to remember what happened 10 minutes ago.

Elle