Attempting to look over that line, that seamless point where bay water meets mountain edge, and mountain edge meets modern city skyline, I generate amity. This is Vancouver. The crystal clear water glows on the eyes of everyone around me, and ricochets off the modernized, transparent buildings. The crisp air smells of clean, if that is even a thing: fresh fruit, fish, herbs, and cinnamon. This is the place where I notice. I look all around, and never lose entertainment. I try to decode a discussion a mom and her young one are partaking in; a young couple feed each other juicy strawberries by the marina; seagulls take turns diving towards the ground to consume just the slightest crumb from an unfinished Panini; row boats move at a thousand miles an hour, as everything is; moving so quickly before my consent. Except my heart continues to be calm, because that is the true meaning of peace, to be in the midst of beautiful chaos, but to remain composed, inside and out. The street cyclist is engaging, as he is dressed like Waldo a top a 10-foot one-wheeler; people are cheering at their wonder, throwing dollar bills into his bucket hat, as if it were a garbage can. Behind me is the market where the freshest ingredients are sold daily; fish caught exactly 30 seconds ago; people in line around the town, purchasing only the superlative for their families desired meals; fish and chips perhaps? In front of me are my beauties, all four of them, considering me in their thoughts. My family; the four individuals that have and will never fail me, are here once again, allocating this space, this trance with me. We drink San Pellegrino and nibble on caramelized almonds. I hear the accordion play, a French melody like the kind I hear in the romantic movies, giving us