On the main level at Balcony House, the ranger points out fascinating facts while I cling to the back wall.
You’d think I would’ve gotten the memo.
Hiking a perilous trail (well, perilous to me) and surviving the journey, would alert some people to the fact that maybe sheer cliff walls and tight rock tunnel passageways might be better left to other, more intrepid national park visitors. Especially since I’ve just miraculously reached the end of that trail before lunchtime.
Marci relaxes in a funky panoramic shot at the Southernmost Beach Resort on Key West.
Encountering The Five Senses And More In The Conch Republic
“That’s the smell of Night Jasmine,” the tarot card reader told us. “Or maybe it’s Frangipani; they both bloom in the evening.”
The Gulf breeze carried the scent away, playfully departing as quickly as it arrived. Replacing the smell was the sound of a dozen weekend gin joints pounding out the pulsing beat of live bands, DJs and the crowded roar of revelers celebrating another successful sunset.
The family cottage is sold and a chapter closes on this Canadian peninsula.
On a mirror-calm bay, on a see-forever day, we scattered my aunt and uncle’s ashes. They died within months of each other over the past year and we took them back to northern Canada, to the cottage they built so long ago.
Taylor sits atop a small waterfall on geothermal Kerosene Creek outside of Rotorua, New Zealand.
A babbling brook on a hot summer’s day turns out to be a 100 degree geothermalcreek. Mud bubbles up into pools with the smell of either bean and bacon soup or, more succinctly, farts — as the ladies say. These cracks in our perception of the way the earth should be are magical and meaningful. Welcome to Rotorua.