My sacred place is found in northern British Columbia and is only accessible by boat. I am able to visit this holy place every few years but when I turn the corner and come into that place, everything suddenly seems to make sense. By the time I arrive, the sun is usually behind one of the mountains, so I feel, more than I see, the towering mountains coming out of deep, navy-blue water. Dropping the anchor produces echoes bouncing off the cove’s walls, until it escapes like steam on the tops of the mountains; the ripples splash softly against the boat as I hear the flap of an eagle’s wings as it flies closely overhead. It’s late so I quickly go to sleep. The next morning, I awake, make tea and sit on the deck of the boat. It is cool and the sun is just peeking over the top of one of the emerald green mountains, casting warm rays onto the evergreens. The aspen trees are an array of oranges, yellow and vibrant reds. The bald eagles sit in the tops of the trees, watching for their breakfast. I am in total peace, my mind isn’t thinking of five things at once, my body is totally relaxed and suddenly, everything makes sense. I feel I am a part of something much bigger than a person sitting on a small boat and am able to give up my control to the mountains; I am home.