I got on the plane last week on a hot 28 celsius day in the height of Vancouver’s late summer. When I stepped off in northern Canada, I entered a landscape on fire with a living, breathing autumn dream. It had been so long since cool rain had traced the contours of my face, and with each cold drop, earthy ancient memories and witchy stirrings were refreshed from deep within. The wind whipped wildly. It stopped only momentarily to draw breath, before releasing more gales that loosed yellow aspen leaves from their quaking grip, shimmered through the red and gold willows and berry bushes that coloured the hillsides, and pushed in rainbows, thunderclouds and rain clouds almost as quickly as it ushered them away to reveal the soft Arctic sun. If the Yukon continues to keep a piece of my heart each time I visit, to replace it with a little of its essence, soon I will have no human heart left - my core will be composed only of this wild wild place. . . (Got back yesterday, packing now and then we are off to the airport this afternoon for our move to the UK.) . . Wearing @wandwoodsstudio (gifted). On the unceded lands of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and Dene Nations.