Ghost floating on the sea. Oh, come to me, this Hallows’ Eve.

I’m moving, again. Away from this place on the Salish Sea. You’ve never been here. We painted the house Studio Green with paint that shimmers and shades in the light. We gutted the gardens, the ones that weren’t really there; just weeds and yucca and starving scrub that looked like it had landed SPLAT! from alien ships onto this rocky soil. I still liked it. Like I like everything. But, it had seen its day so we transformed it a permaculture way. The birds and bees and butterflies came. The hummingbirds near hit me multiple times and mezmerized me to a standstill when I was standing in the mile-high beans; they hovered near my ear to watch me. I watched them back out of the corner of my eye, just barely seeing them, but still I did. Hearing their humming dance, entranced. It grew, blossomed, and bloomed and I saw it all. Except you.

We came from the mountains to this watered place. The whales, sea lions, eagles, heron, deer, they welcomed me here. It was good because I would have missed my mountain home so bad. You didn’t see that mountain home either. The one with the 8 timber stairs to its entry. Then inside you could hide on any level; 8 steps up, 8 steps down, 8 steps to middle ground. It had a panoramic view that reminded me of you. The spread, as far as I could see, to commanding peaks around and down the valley, the mining town. I looked up to see the mountains far and marvelled at where you are. Spread bare, what used to be the part of you. Marvel Pass. We took two passes there. One, with my urn, when I could bear to let you go. I put you between Alberta and B.C.. Little did I know you wouldn’t come with me wherever I went when we spent our days and nights together, and you were young. Little did I know I would move to the Westcoast. But, having said, I must have known in my soul that you would cross that provincial line, so I spread my half-ful urn, on each part of that illusive boundary.

The second pass I made was with your Dad’s urn. He never took his turn. Couldn’t let you go. How much I understand that is like the reunion of all the differences we ever had between us, gone. Before he ghosted himself, he gave your burned body, all white and pure, to your sister. I knew when you passed you went on to better things but, still, you missed her, didn’t you? She came with me to Marvel Pass. Both times on that heli ride up high. This time we took your ash down to the lake. There was a cabin there. It was what you loved, I thought. Especially the times with your dad. Fishing. That was the last of you we had and we let you go then, hook, line, and sinker, after chanting the Lord’s Prayer. He was there, too. With the ghost of you. Your sister chanted Aum and it rang through the air and the ether held it long. She played your song. Someone smiled and it filled us with eternity and the strength to get back on that helicopter and go back down to the earth below. We did it slo-mo, like time didn’t exist because it doesn’t where you are.

There were other mountain homes before the one that brought us here. A half-duplex that you might have liked. I thought then of how much you would have loved to come to ski and board and visit with us, if you had moved out of home. I wish you hadn’t. It happened anyway in its own way.

Moving to the mountains was kind of staged. Romeo had a condo there at first. I kept our home, your childhood place, for a few years. Your sister grew and left and then it only made sense to go, too…didn’t it? The mountains steadied my heart as it could rest itself up high. Exhilaration cleared my head and, quite simply said, it was just closer to you that I needed to be to calm me. I knew you would be flying somewhere and so I went to climb there. I had the urn of you when we left and waited for the day when I could convey your powdered body to rest into the air. Our old home sold so fast there was no time for life to unfold. The story was told and I did what needed to be done. Packed and moved, ever so gently tidying your old room and putting you with me in the front seat for that final drive that took us away from where we lived together. Laughed together. Loved. Urned. I yearned for you when I left that house. And yet I was comforted by your presence. Somehow you smiled and told me, ‘This is going to be an adventure!’. What is it about you that always gets me so good?! You move me.

Well, I’ve told you the rest in a backward sense, how I went here and there and landed at the water. Now, I’m really going backwards. Moving, again.
Back to the mountains, where I’ve been. I can’t stay away from the heights where I’ve left you. Yeah, I know you aren’t where I am not because you’ve never left me. Yet I long for you and your physical presence. But, no mind. The house is sold, this big one on this ocean floor. No more sandy shores. I’m leaving here. Downsizing. Into a hidden place back on the Canmore mountainside. The Pinnacle. Way up high. I’ll meet you outside, as soon as I’m there! I’ll wait for you and look for you. Come move with me, invisible you.

‘Thus at the hour of setting forth, when you inspect the loads, tugging at each rope to make sure that the weight is well distributed, and next you check the store of water ~ you are summoning forth what is best in you. And presently you set out for that far-off land blessed by many waters, beyond the sands, and one by one you climb the intervals between the wells spaced out like the steps of a staircase; and, because there is a battle to be won and a dance to dance, you are gradually caught up in the ceremonial of the desert. Thus it is, while strengthening your bodily endurance, I build up a soul for you.’ ~ Antoine de Saint Exupery