For my real life summer vacation, I went to Mackinac Island, a real and amazingly beautiful island, accessible only by ferry boat off the coast of Michigan in Lake Huron and renowned for its fudge, among other things. (I could do an entire blog post on the magical healing powers of chocolate.) According to the tourist website (http://www.mackinacisland.org), “it’s an island suspended in a forgotten, more innocent time. Relive the simple pleasures of life… On Mackinac Island every day is timeless, every night precious.”
There are no cars on the island. Everyone walks, rides bikes or takes horse-drawn carriages. We did all three. The water surrounding the island is crystal clear. From above, you can see lighter and deep blues and even greens and browns of the sea bottom.
If I had my way, I would have relocated my office to the highest point overlooking the water and spent the rest of my life there writing. Since I left my laptop at home and my reservation ended at the end of the weekend, I simply soaked in the view and allowed the beauty and the calm to work its magical healing on my stressed-out soul.
I returned home to a decidedly un-Zen state—a book deadline, a to-do list of things I hadn’t gotten around to before I left, a house in need of cleaning, a parade of neighborhood children that turned my living room into a circus staging area, and a dryer that decided to quit working as I tried to catch up on laundry.
I wanted to go back. To the Wiccan Haus. To Mackinac Island. I missed it already.
Then I printed out my pictures, and the stunning beauty took me back. I have those memories. I carry a part of Mackinac/Wiccan Haus with me wherever I go, regardless of the chaos life unfolds in front of me. It’s a part of my soul, and no one can take it from me.
But just in case they try, I’m going to hang the pictures all around my desk, so I can escape any time.
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