|False Narrows, Gabriola Island|
Sometimes I sip my coffee, sit back and watch. I admire the beauty of the changing landscape, count the herons, smile at the otters, marvel at the wingspan of the eagles. Other days the metaphor takes over. Don't we all see the surface rather than the hazards hidden below? Those with experience and careful preparation know the harmless way through to the other side. And sometimes, a hapless blunderer will roar through the shallows, blithely unaware that he or she is centimetres from disaster. False narrows, false promises, blind luck.
Some say, when they hear I've moved to a Gulf Island, people tell me, "that will be so relaxing." I'm definitely more in tune with natural rhythms, but the ebb and flow creates no shortage of daily drama.