Nostalgic for blackberry hunting, rain storms that stay for days, and nude, hidden pools.
Grateful for twenty-minute rushed climaxes of thunder and cool evenings with no bug bites.
Nostalgic for sweaty ceiling fans and endless books.
Grateful for quiet houses with effective cooling systems.
Nostalgic for the one bookstore that had air conditioning, and the leather couch that I claimed as my refuge in July.
Grateful to have options.
Nostalgic for shared meals.
Grateful for green chile. All hail.
Nostalgic for rolling green mountains that welcome me into their abundance.
Grateful for the jagged mountain line that keeps me humble.
There is a tension in coming and going. There is a tension between homesickness and the attempt to live in the moment. We could make pro-con lists about everything in life, and while these lists may make the choice easier or more clear, they won’t take away the necessity of choosing. I chose the American southwest for nearly five years. I am grateful for so many things I have experienced here. Now I am choosing home. And it feels so good.