Snow-capped mountains that reflect into the deepest blue water you’ve ever seen.
The tallest of pines that stand vertically at attention along every strip of landscape.
Picking fresh raspberries and eating them right there in the middle of the forest, while patiently begging the blackberries to please, please! ripen before you leave.
Running beneath the lush Pacific canopy along a steep wooded trail to the ocean, where you will skip rocks (poorly) and watch the ferries (pensively) and collect shells (successfully).
Canoeing on a quiet lake with six friends and two dogs to find a small knoll on which you will eat smokies, nap in the sun, swim all afternoon, laugh until your side splits open and later, capsize and swim the boat to shore. You will be thankful your camera stayed in the car.
Grilling steaks and fresh vegetables on a farm while the sun creeps down below the tree line and the green green grass makes all your freshly freckled faces glow.
Strumming guitars and weaving through the melodies of old songs and new songs, wondering how you’ve possibly managed a year and a half without this. Your fingers will hurt and you will like it.
Watching French movies and Irish movies and Korean movies; listening to Canadian music and American music and English music; eating Vietnamese sandwiches and Japanese sushi and Korean noodles and not one Canadian sweet to speak of!
A sun that doesn’t set until 10pm and wakes you eagerly each morning, giving you so many more hours to read books and eat mangoes and watch sea planes and hunt for purple starfish and play guitars and write in your diary and pick flowers in the garden and swim in the river and stare at the mountains and bake raspberry crisp and talk with Korean accents and drink chocolate porters with stilton and grapes. That many more hours to feel the sun shining. Which it finally, thankfully is.