Thoughts two weeks before embarking on the 2,627-mile journey to our new home.
The sweet scent of pine pitch
The tang of subalpine fir
The golden glow of fall larch
The crest of dark conifers on the ridge
The hollow thwock of granite stones underfoot
The sweep of jagged peaks, up up up
The raven croaking over a still azure pool
The pungent meadow ripe with beargrass, glacier lilies, lupine, paintbrush
The contented burbles of a meandering stream
The joy a ponderosa pine cone brings to my dog
The exhausted afterglow of a strenuous climb
The granite and sandstone shrines beneath the pine — cat, parakeet, three dogs — our beloved family
These are more senses than things, yet they tie me to the land
Will the string break, or will I still feel tethered to it from far away?
I guess I’m going to find out.
Flights of Fancy 