Landscape Polyamory

I’m once again at my coastal perch. Sunrays drop before me through the clouds, seeming to enclose the far shore in a great pyramid of light. A crow is hopping along the rocks below me, searching for food. The tide is on a slow retreat and the rocks it uncovers remain damp with surf. I’m drinking a cool salt air.
Few sailed ships are traversing the harbour this week. Only small pleasure craft are in motion now. Last week, however, was the Tall Ships Festival, which was a rather large tourist draw. From what I was told, the main water front was covered by a swarm of people. Along with the upcoming Busker Festival, it’s one of the biggest summer tourist events in Nova Scotia.
The ocean breeze I’m filled with now has become something I long for each too-hot summer day I’m unable to visit here. It’s rejuvenating in an indescribable way, containing some vital element of life beyond oxygen. As much as I love forests and mountains, I think the coast and I are lifemates. She whispers in my ears and dances in my lungs, trying to seduce me into a bed of smooth rocks.
I must claim my polyamory, in truth. I am as willful a participant in my union with each of those in my landscape triad of lovers. Oak leaf tresses, stone limbs and salt water torso mingle in a perfect vision.
As I returned through the tree-lined paths, I was called to collect leaves. It was only a pair, one oak and the other red maple, but their presence in scent and sight on both sides of my window is a pleasant reminder that the world beyond these synthetic walls is growing and living.