secret: return of the prodigal

a few months ago i made a reflection that the day when i woke up to look out the window and realise my mountains were missing would be a tough day.

yesterday i woke up at 6am, wide awake almost instantly. jet lag is a bitch. i lay in my cocoon; sleeping on the futon that was mine all through my high school years, wrapped up in blankets i've known and used for cubby houses since my childhood.

at 6 am, the world is very still and quiet. as the minutes pass and my mind wanders, there are hints of pink and orange. in a slow miracle, the sun rises, and i watched out the window, curled up in warmth. i thought about a lot of things, like who i was and where i was. i thought about the one i love, so very far away from me, both in kilometres and time. i watched the world become real again and the night disappear, i watched the bare rolling hills and the few gum trees in my eyeline.

no mountains. it's winter here, or starting to be. winter in new england is delicious, smoky and cold. crisp like an apple. sparse. familiar like family. there are clear blue skies and a tentative warmth that disappears as the sun sets. the sun has a way of shining off the frost that often appears from the cold clear night before. it widens the day with the sparkle it makes, and then it melts. i like when my nose is cold in the mornings outside.

i worried, those months ago, that i would always want to be somewhere else. i've never been so satisfied with a sense of place as i was in canada. my poor jumbled brain needs to feel that feeling, to have a base to work from. it was perfect, that sun rise, for showing me that things can shift, and any place can be my place. wherever i go, there i am.