Cuter than a Can of Spam

And tastier to boot, is my parent's little Vintage Cardinal trailer on it's maiden voyage through the redwoods of the north.  We called it home base while we traversed forest and fields, chattering and clucking for hours, sitting in quiet contemplation.

Mug after mug of piping coffee, steam rising up to greet the dawn song of the birds.  Hands full with crow feathers, jay feathers, and one small pup who could melt the heart of the hardest stone.

Raccoons scuttling in as soon as Mars shone bright, leaving prints of ash and mud for us to guess their sizes.  Creatures with a multitude of legs and creatures with none, joining us for first meals of the day.

And the small things, the minuscule, the detritus, the ephemeral bits of moss and the tiny legs of lichen, we took them all in.

And the light, oh that light...

Woods and water, these things fill my cup to overflowing.  And so I drink deep, ducking my head low to catch the spill and lap up all that goodness.

When I Say Fern...

... I mean FERN!

All things green and dripping and curling and reaching ever upward.

(and I swoon)

My parents are in town for the week.  Well, to be honest they are in forest.  Camping, not 15 minutes from my home in one of the loveliest areas the North Coast offers.  I don't mean to boast, but really now, but this territory I reside in is so amazing, with so much to offer that I feel luck rising in my soul every time I venture out of doors.

After a solid night of sleep in my own bed and a hearty breakfast (BC is fattening me up on the good weeks - he gives me a wink and adds a little extra butter on my english muffins) I'm heading back out to the woods and water to stay with them and let my soul be filled with all that the ravens see and the black bears smell.

More to come, more to come, but first I need to get my shoes a little muddy and my pockets full of detritus.