Cypress Mountain Park

Illness is never a welcome confluent for the visit from a friend from out of town. David, here from London, loves the outdoors and solitude as I do so I decided to get a co-op car and take us up to Cypress Mountain where the climb is not difficult and in shade and the decent is spectacular.

 David is the nephew of a dear friend and a soul mate from London, England. 

 The climb.

 Our first lake. It is the golden colour of peat. The blueberries were scarce and a long way from ready due to the lack of rain.

Clowning for David.

Our second lake.

 A bridge drew my eye and ...

Dad''s (Don Tyrell's) cabin is honoured. He is in the middle in a white shirt and with his left hand in his pocket. He was stunningly handsome, an obsessive athlete and his not being my biological father allows me to repeat—he was stinking hot.

One of the old cabins.

A meadow.

 At rest in a picnic area. We had a fabulous day; we are very compatible.

The trees are like a carpet on the hills. They are so easy to take for granted but they are iconic to a life on the coast.

Home to put my first fish in my new aquarium, much to the delight of Leon.