Tuesday, Aug. 07, 2012 @ 2:05 pm
Busy city life.
Down at Spanish Banks, humid and raining, swimming with my sister in the salty harbour. What exactly do you do at work? she asks. Realizing the costs of my years of absence. Walking back to the sand, warm rain falling on my shoulders, skin tingling in the slight breeze.
Weeknight bottle of wine with Daniel at Third Beach. Our bikes leaned up against a tall, shaggy cedar tree. The sun going down, a man swimming laps between the buoys.
Drinking wheat ale at the Irish Heather, the same local brew as ten years ago at afterwork drinks when I worked at the biotech company. Sitting at the bar, talking to the woman beside me, who turns out to be an engineering colleague with one degree of separation. Not so much of a large city? The spaces shrink with new connections.
We run together through the West End. The concussions from fireworks echo between the concrete apartment towers. Flashes of light relfecting in the towers of glass. Laughing and running and sweat dripping behind my knees and the beach thick with crowds. We arrive and lean on each other and watch the show only slightly obscured by trees.
Out in the valley, early morning, hiking into the mountains. My legs and heart are strong, and where others are lagging I am pushing on ahead. Into the fading wildflowers: lupines, columbines, penstemons, paintbrush, heather. Pastoral river floodplain below, the temperature rises above thirty and the constant hum of hungry insects.
How does moving to the city mean more connection to the earth? A stronger desire to feel bare earth beneath my feet, to float on my back in the ocean. It's my natural state to be here.
I'm home, I'm home, I'm home.