The North Country calls to those few who search for each other.

They’ve trekked far and long through poverty, apathy, tireless addictions
to find a place that takes their hands and holds them softly and coaxes the needles from their arms and bandages old wounds now infected and
kisses their lips like the first time again and says that there are better things to be had than heartache and misery.

They have found their home in the North high above all things where they were lead by a hunch that told them that they would find each other there.

The others.

Those few who feel the meat of life in their flesh, flavorful and juicy with humanity, emotion, and healthy discontentment.

They smell the scent of existence and experience in their nerves, tingling with peppermint sensations and awareness.

And in their bones is a thing or two more: A strength that houses their curious souls and replenishes dignities before sending them onto their next spiritual expedition.

They have skeletons that rattle with the purest rhythms of an entity, bones that drum a beat more constant than heart.

There are parties waiting for them in their marrow where they will find the river of unlimited knowledge and friendship and ***** that was truly always coursing through their veins.

I cannot wait to ride that beautiful river and be so full and so satisfied.