avoca beach sunday morning, the sound of tribal drumming beats a pulse through a crowd of winter wandering coasters wrapped in big coats, gloves, boots and scarves. mission weaves in and out of people, no crafts or cosmetics hold interest, he's looking for something he once a heard a rumour about but has never verified. 
vision scans the stalls, sensory overload, to many people, to many stalls, it goes long and deep. suddenly i see something unbelievable. fresh bagels, not what i came out for but a worthy find. i buy two blueberry ones and a seed one. 
deeper into the crowd i hear more music, this time some etherial girl child voice with that soft harmonic keyboard, i follow the vibe past the food stalls where paella is popular and weave through the queues of exotic mothers to what i think is the place i seek. the feather weaver. 
it's a pretty sophisticated set up, like a hairdresser and a massive selection of feathers. i make my selection and sit in the comfortable chair provided while the lady tells me she thinks i should be in finland.
'that's strange. i was there last year.'
'oh really! i felt you have this northern european spirit, a warrior, somewhere in finland i think.'
'well i must admit i loved it and felt very comfortable for such a cold climate, although i was there in summer.'
'what were you doing there?'
'looking for runes.'
'what are they?'
i proceed to tell her. we speak about a few other subjects she raises, surf at terrible beach, death and ravens. 
'you have a strong spirit,' she says, 'i felt it as soon as you entered.'
'thanks you, spirit is good but the flesh is weak,' i joke.
away from the crowds, away from the racket, away from the people and cars i catch glimpses of ocean, big breaking waves, big clouds hanging above. i find a coffee on the run. my face still aches and throbs, at least i am alive, breathing, kicking. life's full of surprises, i pass through them everyday.