its early. i sit here feeling so dry. i’m so far inland, and it’s been so hot here this summer. it sucks what little rain that falls back out of the ground, leaving it dry and dusty, while the moisture hangs in the air like an invisible fog that suffocates you when you step outside.

i long for the winter storms of the northern coastline. i long for the blue green sea, the salt spray, the laughing seagulls. i long for the chilly mists, the wet forest, green fire glowing beneath the canopy of cedars and firs. i long for home.

pnw

 the day is approaching when i will take flight, and leave this barren, polluted place. once again i will walk the primeval trails. once again i will stand in the cold rains. once again i will live along the coastal mountains, sheathed in their watery fogs, hidden beneath their blue green woods. once again i will sleep under a sky so studded with stars that the moon is embarrassed at her dim comparison.

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