Friday, February 14, 2014
The Lady, Standing Watch
They call her "The Lady of the Mountain," and she watches over my hometown.
I'd been away for eleven years, and the visit that time was for my mother's funeral. I didn't get out much that time.
Before that, it had been nine years. After college, I'd moved across the country, and never looked back. Not because it was a bad place to live, mind you. It just wasn't my kind of place anymore.
And now I'm happy where I am, soaking in a full four seasons and drinking in the green and living it up in the suburbs of a big city where I can take a drive through rolling hills and farmland or hop a train into the city and watch a Broadway tour or see a concert or visit a museum - all things that I never would have been able to do in my tiny desert town.
But going back was good. You forget how beautiful it is, being away. The way the sky lights on fire at sunset, turning the mountains red and purple and orange and the smell of the rain on the creosote. The houses in varying shades of tan and yellow and sun-washed white. The craggy mountains in the distance.
And the Lady, welcoming me home.
I'm a part of it always, just as she is. Her place is there, and mine is here, but I carry the timelessness of it all within me, and I always will.
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