I’ve had a fantasy for many years. I suppose most artists do. A pilgrimage of sorts into the wild wild woods, back to myself and the deep mysteries and recesses of my imagination. I took a boat to a small island off the coast of BC to write for a little while. What a luxury this is. Nestled deep in the trees, with the sound of running water freshly fallen from the mountains above, and journeying their way into the mouth of the ocean that gently sways below. It’s hard not to let time pass and get carried away by conversations with the trees and of course with Pacha Mama herself. But that’s not why I’m here. Not entirely at least. It’s time to put thoughts into words onto the page and hopefully into the hearts of those who read them.