Serene Island

There's a place in my mind I go to check the surf. Usually in the wee hours of the morning just before the dawn while my body rests and my mind is reeling. Some call it REM. I have always dreamed of this place as an island. The physical landscape changes, but always an island. Sometimes it's the inland waterways of the pacific north west, where getting your bearings and spying a view can be a challenge. Other times it's the grassy, fog rolled hills north of the gate where whites outnumber surfers. Mostly I'm on foot, walking fire roads patiently waiting to crest the next ridge or stumbling through soggy paths along moss covered creeks hoping to find the mouth. Almost always, the feeling is one of patient anticipation. There is a calmness in my search that comes from the knowledge that the perfect set up will present it self... when the time is right.