Funny to find myself amongst mountains. The wilderness here is huge, and impossible to know. Even with the spring surges of water, carving out new designs in the hillside, I always knew where everything was back home at my grandparent's house(now my sister's) in Jordan Station, Ontario. Wine country with the outlaw vines climbing up the trees. It was as if the moving mud simply displayed parts of the land I already knew. I feel as if every single grain of dirt - on the surface of the forest, or buried deep within the land, or pushed by the creek - I've touched with the bottom of my boot, with my eye, with my mind. And is it ok to know I will never know this place like that?