Sitting here in the subtropical heat of south Florida, I ask myself, “And I left the Pacific Northwest for what reason again?”

Shoo-eeee!

If there’s anything my dadd taught me, it’s this: never spent your summers in your winter home — just too darn hot!

Anyways, whilst I was wandering the dirt roads of boreal forests, with snow-capped peaks peeking their heads around every spruce, I started losing track of myself.

I don’t exist, of course, but the remnants of the personality that is imaginary unraveled with each passing mile in a group of strangers thrown together unknown to us by travel agents knowingly.

By the end of the trip, I couldn’t tell a mountain from a skyscraper or a person from a caribou. Who?

Symbols are blurry here where turtles swim in alligator-infested canals.

You can see why…