I had to go back to UBC after that, back to classes, back to regular stuff, mundane stuff after the hike in the woods past the Gate. I missed the peace, the solitude, but more than anything, the feeling of freedom from knowing that I could spend pretty much as much time as I wanted there, with few consequences. I knew I had a pretty cushy life, all things considered, but sometimes you just need a break, and life doesn't want to give you one.

I may have had to leave that other place alone for a bit, but it certainly didn't leave me alone. More than one night, I remembered having a dream about the place, as I remembered seeing it on my way back to Earth, after one final look. The twilight sky, the streams of pastel auroras, the two moons (or planets) in the sky, the rolling hills filled with evergreens with a slight tinge of purple, snow-capped peaks far in the distance. One dream involved the Clearing on a beautiful, sunny day, the sky baby blue above, and the edge of one of the moons a pale shadow. A delicate thread of aurora hiding between clouds.

The strangest one by far, on Thursday night: I was... someone; I stood on a terrace hanging from the side of a cliff, a whole vertical city sprouting with tufts of cultivated plants. The noise and bustle of a marketplace buzzed in the air nearby; a beautiful train, round and perhaps made of glass, pulled silently into a station below; and the bright light of day overhead couldn't mute the exuberance of the aurora high in the sky. I leaned against the railing of the terrace, lifted my hands upwards as if the aurora were a cat whose blessing I sought for contact. It almost seemed to sing to me, ringing inside like a silent glass harp. With my arms outstretched, I could see then that they were twined with swirling, colourful patterns, like iridescent tattoos.

I startled awake, damp with sweat, and found that I couldn't go back to sleep. I got up and ate some cereal, some simple breakfast. I didn't even know if there were people in that place. So far, the arch had been the only sign of any kind of human habitation.

That's it. It's time, I thought.

My first class on that Friday was not until a little after noon. My backpack camping gear was already in the car. I quietly gathered up some trail food and headed out.

I stepped from the earliest film of morning straight into the earliest descent into night. The stars were blazing overhead, as was the aurora, just as I remembered from my dreams. Brighter, really, since the moons were nowhere to be seen.

I wonder if I can write an app to track this or something, I was thinking. Having to endure jet lag during every transition seemed like it would be painful. At least on that day, I'd had restless sleep anyway, plus exercise; it shouldn't be too hard to get to sleep again.

For that matter, I thought as I stepped lightly down the path and toward the Clearing, my biological clock is still ticking here... I could end up much older each time I stay for a while.

As before, I saw no one on the path, and as before, the Clearing was a beautiful, flat space with a gurgling stream. This time, I had a tent, and I quickly set it up.

On Earth, I often worried about nighttime visitors like bears, a common inhabitant in BC. In the Gate place, once I crawled in the tent and closed the flap, I felt no concern at all, as if the Clearing itself would watch over me. Whether that was fancy or not, I quickly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep without dreams.

I slept straight through to the morning, at least morning in the Gate place. It was pointless to try to keep track of the difference by feel, so I let go and let myself adjust to local time.

The soft patter of rain sounded from the tent's roof. In other contexts, this might have worried me -- I'm not too excited about hiking in the rain, much as I enjoy the ambiance as a denizen of the Pacific Northwest. But I found that I was not particularly bothered by it; after all, I had all the time in the world. Well, nearly two full days' worth on this trip, but I certainly didn't feel any concern. So I opened the flap of the tent to see outside, and then pulled out my journal to write and sketch what the Clearing looked like in the rain.

A beautiful rainy day in the Clearing, I wrote, followed by beginning a sketch of the pond and the rocks.

For the first time, I caught sight of an animal across the stream from my tent. Maybe a squirrel or a similar rodent, but with no colouration I'd ever seen on a squirrel, swirling patterns of shades of brown. It stood staring at me, no doubt wondering what I was. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of it before it bounded off, then started to draw from the picture on a new page.

An alarming amount of battery had already been consumed, I supposed searching for networks. Thankfully, I had a backup battery charger with a solar panel, but since I'd seen no signs of civilization, it might be a problem I'd have to solve for longer trips. For the time being, I set it to airplane mode.

Before midday, the rain had cleared up, and I packed up my tent. It was time to adventure onwards into the strange land. I turned right, exiting the Clearing, and continued forward, the Gate behind me.

I figured that I'd continue onward until I found something interesting, perhaps another good campsite, or I'd turn around when it turned evening, so I'd have time to make it back to the Clearing.

A couple of hours in, I stopped for a break. I sat down on the edge of the path and nommed on a granola bar.

Why is this path even here? I thought. Surely, if it's still this well defined, people must be using it. Have they been secretly crossing into our world?

Another hour or so on, I got what I'd been both hoping for and dreading: a sign of habitation.

Literally. A sign.

The path forked, and it marked the destination of each direction. The wooden post had a wooden plaque attached to it by nails. On the path I'd come from, in slightly strange letter shapes, La Lune. On the left path, which looked like it might lead down into a valley, Fleuve Clair. And on the right path, An Gleann.

So, umm... French? But also not? What was that last one?

Each had numbers, as well, perhaps distances. La Lune was listed as 5. Kilometres? Surely not, but that did sort of match the distance I'd gone. Fleuve Clair was listed next to 2. And An Gleann, 30.

An Gleann was right out. Fleuve Clair I recognized, assuming it meant the same thing as French from my world: Clear River. And if it were truly kilometres, I could do that and have time to turn around if needed.

I turned down the left fork of the path.

I could see Fleuve Clair before it could see me.

In a small valley below, a river bent around the hill I stood upon. At the bottom of the hill, a stout-looking bridge crossed the river and connected to the town itself by way of a paved road, maybe bricks.

Narrow, colourfully painted houses stood in rows, going slightly up or down to match the local terrain. Many of them had chimneys with smoke gently rising from them. I could just make out people walking around the streets, going about their business.

I guess that answers another question, I thought. They actually look human.

I found myself a nice sitting rock that let me, perhaps, stay out of the open view of the people below, and I started sketching once again. What a picturesque town that was! Somewhere in the centre, some very organic buildings sprouted from the ground, smaller than Vancouver skyscrapers, but definitely outliers.

I itched to go down and explore, but: one, I couldn't speak their language (or some of it, anyway); two, I didn't have much time; and three, most importantly, I'm an introvert and occasionally a social wimp. I decided to finish up my sketch, take a picture with my phone, and quietly head back for the day.

I stayed overnight again in the Clearing and then headed back up to the Gate, emerging with just enough time to hike back to my car and drive down to the university.