I arrived in Seattle Friday afternoon, and what a flight that was! We descended over the North Cascades, in all their sharp-edged, snowy glory, and passed between towering pillars of cumulus clouds, which instantly put me in mind of a famous bit of poetry: “[I] flung my eager craft through footless halls of air…” Down we went over the coastal plains, with Puget Sound and its islands stretching out to the west, and I watched the appearance of familiar bridges and roads. The scenery just before we landed was spectacular, because we were low enough to appreciate the green beauty of the coastal plains, but still high enough to see the entire North Cascade range…and then we dropped to the runway and I was back on the ground in my beloved Pacific Northwest.
A funny thing, this business of being home when it isn’t really home anymore. I grew up here, and have very deep roots in this land: a bone-deep familiarity with the trees, the landscape, the very scent of the air. But at the same time, it all feels a bit foreign now. I’m home, but I’m also a visitor. And it’s not that this place has changed. The change has been in me.
I love being here, and can’t wait for the adventures. I’m dying to get to the mountains and the coast. But I miss Portugal already.
Home may be where your heart is, but what if your heart lives in two different places? Then you’re always home…and you never are.
(Photo of the North Cascades from Globe Images.)