The Road from Here

I'm preparing to leave my home for the next two months. I say home loosely. I'm leaving my place of residence and life of responsibilities I have acquired while living in the State of Arizona. 

Nathan and I came here three years ago. We agreed as a family to help him follow his dreams of becoming a doctor. We arrived on the last day of May to temperatures we Idahoains only see at the end of August, and then for only a few days. Arizona welcomed us with the hot kiss of foreboding and the oppressive embrace of sun-scorched days yet to come. We marveled at certain oddities this Martian landscape showed us. Hot tap water when turned to "cold"; lows at night of 98; and empty neighborhood streets until twilight. Our first year of acclamation was painful and the physical change of climate took a mental toll. We told ourselves to make do and look forward to the day when we could live in the cool of the mountains again.

         Each Christmas and each summer, we have made our way back to our home. A place with seasons; 

a place with color; a place with water, and sounds, and smells.  How can it be that ones soul can be bound so fervently to a place? I miss the wave swept waters of Lake Coeur d' Alene, the smell of the burning fields of the Palouse at harvest, the look of the Lilac bushes and their soft purple during the month of May. 

I have made do with the life we've made here. In fact I've made wonderful friends and learned lessons I could not have learned elsewhere. Hard lessons that make me appreciate that which I have left behind. I have found joy in the yellow blossoms of the Palo Verde trees, the swift race of the Geckos across my path as I run, the warmth of the sunrise in the cool winter mornings, the call of the coyotes in the close desert. Yet for all I have accepted, for all I have learned, my heart still aches for home.

Wait for me. I'm coming.