Northwest Love Song
I have lived in Los Angeles for 17 years now, almost half my life. I have embraced its energy and its rhythms, the dry air and the bold sun. But deep inside I know that this is not my true home. My heart will always be rooted somewhere else.
I am from one of the most beautiful places in the world. A place of contrast. Of clouds and color. Of water and stone.
I am a child of the Pacific Northwest. A child of the mountains and the ocean, the forest and the rain. I dance in puddles and find solace in the stillness of the trees. I was rocked to sleep on the decks of sailboats and awakened by the sound of crashing waves. My blood runs green, and blue, and cloudy gray. The crimson of autumn leaves and the yellow of spring daffodils. The muted brown of the deep woods and the white of falling snow.
Every sense embraces the memories of my youth: the smell of lilacs, of lilies of the valley, of cool ocean breezes. I can still taste the blackberries, picked along the wayside, as they burst on my tongue, see the vibrant sunsets, and feel the squish of mud flats through my toes.
I know what it is to sit by the campfire, the waves lapping at the shore only a few feet away. And to lie in a snowy field with the Milky Way stretching across the sky above my head, embracing infinity. I have flown down the slopes on my skis, and cut through the surf in a kayak. I have laughed at the sight of the wild creatures: the rabbits and the deer, the dolphins and seals, the triumphant breaching of a pod of orcas in the sound, and the stillness of an eagle perched on her nest.
Because, wherever I go in this world, the Northwest lives inside me. Reminding me to slow down, to feel the dirt under my feet and the sky above my head. To smell the flowers and to love the rain. To find joy in the green spaces and calm in the water. To be me.
