Out of Time and Place

{Taken almost a year ago in Vermont}

I've really been enjoying this blog lately, and when I read it today I was overwhelmed with homesickness. I remember foraging for fiddleheads in Vermont with my aunt, who has a degree in botany, along the banks of the creek near my grandmother's house. I think May and June will always make me sentimental, with the season of graduations, and Mother's Day, and Father's Day and all. But I also think my body has just felt out of place here the past few weeks--- as beautiful as New Mexico is, I feel intensely like I am physically missing something. Perhaps rainstorms, or humidity, or more green, or more water, or cloudy days, or misty mornings, or a combination of all of those.

I remember this time last year I was wandering around Boston and Vermont, taking solitary walks with my camera and preparing to say a goodbye of sorts to the land itself. Sometimes I think it was harder to do that than to say goodbye to friends. I can only communicate with the land physically; people I can reach out to across the miles. I still look at those pictures sometimes, and with more frequency lately. It makes me incredibly melancholy.

I'm hoping to journey "back East" this summer, but part of me is almost afraid to tease myself, that I'll give in to nostalgia and turn my visit into a resettling.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this self-indulgent post, exactly, beyond speaking to the importance of other blogs, and how much I enjoy them--- even if they make me wallow in a good bout of selective memory-making.