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Sandpoint

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It’s late and quiet and I’m missing home. I’d like to be walking through the forest right now, with the wind in my face and the moon’s faint glow falling in patches through the trees. The world a layered darkness lit fitfully from above. Pine needles and moss muffling the noise of my footsteps. An owl hooting somewhere in the distance. What a joy it would be to sit alone by the edge of the lake, listening to the wavelets wash against the shore and looking for satellites or falling stars. There are days when I miss it so much it hurts. I try to go back every year, if only for a day or two, so I can feel at peace once more. The city is hard on me. You cannot walk alone at night here and most of the stars are hidden by the glow of the city itself. Even the wind is different, broken by buildings instead of trees.

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This is why I am saving up for a cabin somewhere in the mountains...Tennessee maybe, or the Carolinas somewhere I can drive to in less than 3 hours.

 

Atlanta sucks.

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