Subalpine meadow heaven. Canadian wilderness, good Canadian girls, cheeky whisky jacks and my head exploding with the fantasy saturating the surroundings (my hands aching from the writing, rewriting; it's never quite right).

Morning in the meadow, quivering anemones and glacier lilies. Up, up across the snowfields, losing the trail and risking real adventure with every guessed change of direction. Short-cut down the north slope, feet first towards the distant treeline, laughter echoing back at us, chasing our slip-sliding boot-ski funtravel.

Friday night it thunders. Lightening searing through the cumulonimbus sky. Snow in June. We huddle in the tent with Nalgene hot water bottles, waiting for the wind to carry it all away.

Glacier-fed lake, snowfields seep right from the edge, and I slip into it. Lungs crush in with the beyond-cold barely-liquid water. Christine shrieks "Kokanee Glacier Girls!" and I envy their brazen bikinis. Combing my hair to dry in the mountain breeze.

I search the forests. I gather the flowers and ferns in my head, mental pictures, and take digital pictures where the sun is right, heavenly light.

An orchid? And orchid! On the side of the logging road, purple and small, who are you, small orchid? Photos out of focus but still, I know I found you. Calypso bulbosa, wee fairy slipper, I can't believe I found you.

Running through the meadow, you running through my mind. You are taciturn and idle, sensitive and beloving. I keep hoping you'll open up to me, purple orchids sprouting from behind your ears. Patience. I think that you are beginning to care about me.