today the hills are calling me home. they are calling me into their green arms like nothing has ever called me before. they send whispers on the winds from the east and i hear them as my hair gets whirled up around my face. the pink clouds at sunset sing and beg me to answer. the very ground itself, here in this city, seems to somehow be connected to my home and is sending me a message.
“bring your son to us,” they say. “he will be a child of the hills and trees. a play outside until dark little boy that scrapes his knees and stains his pants with green grass in his yard and not a park as you watch from the porch. a sit on the hot driveway eating dripping popsicles in the summer little boy. an adventurous sled down the big hill child in the deep winter.” it is hard to resist such a request. it is hard to remember my thoughts of not wanting to go back when that beautiful picture is painted. when a blonde hair, blue eyed vision swims before my eyes it is hard to remember why i moved to this place.
this place that is so different from home.
this place that holds precious memories for me.
this place that taught me to be independent and taught me who i am.
this place that i’ve struggled and thrived in.
this place that i began calling home when i first moved here.
this place that has lost it’s luster for me.
“bring your tired self to us,” they say. “you will remember being a child of the hills and a play outside until dark little girl. you will sit on a porch and drink coffee in the foggy morning dew. you will lay in bed beside your husband in the utter silence because there aren’t sirens blaring at 2:30 am. you will stare into the pitch black sky and see it sprinkled with stars, because here it gets dark enough to see the stars.”
it is hard to resist such a calling. i’m not sure if i can resist such a calling.