It’s been ten years and three months since we moved to this street. The neighbors are friendly. It’s quiet and neat.

The bus and the mail come right to our door. We’ve updated the paint and we’ve reclaimed the floor.

But, as I sort the recycling and rake up the lawn, I start to wonder where Adventure has gone.

He left on a Tuesday without looking back. On his face was a grin, on his shoulders, a sack.

He asked me to join him as he turned away and I gave it some thought but had work the next day.

He may be in Canada learning moose calls, or clinking a stein in Germanic beer halls.

Have you heard of the pirate of Old Havershim? They say it’s a myth but I’m sure it was him.

And the unexplained lights people see in the sky? Well, he always talked about learning to fly.

And deep sea diving and French pastry making, but seldom of taxes and never of raking.

Once we were consorts, Adventure and I, but I put him aside for a predictable life.

I thought he would sit still and be waiting for me, when things slowed down and I was ready for He.

But Adventure rolls on like a babbling brook and flows past the distracted, too busy to look.

To rediscover the places he hides, you must leave the suburbs and venture Outside.

You have to be willing to let go and float. So today I went out and I bought a houseboat.