Ancient years ago we lived along the borders of Idaho and Oregon, about a days drive to the Pacific coast. One of the summers was spent loading up the family and camping gear and driving to the coast.
Drifting wisps of memory flutter in the vision before me...
Following the snaking river to it's gaping mouth which swallows the ocean whole, we travel from place to place, campsite to campsite searching but not finding. High competition campgrounds force unreserved sites to be impossible to find especially on the weekend. Searching becomes the chore of each day.
Meandering along the coast to see wonders we have never before laid eyes on. The cusp of the forest where rainfall is measured by feet, not inches, this is the furthest we were able extend our journey for we need to retract our steps and hurry home to the busy-ness of everyday life. We had been stung by the beauty of the canvas before us. We would return, even the very next year to feast on the beauty that we had only sipped this time.
But time does not bring us back. No, it throws us to the other side of the world, well, really just the other side of the states. But, the other side of the world or other side of the states it did not matter; our lives are rooted where our feet do trod. The East has no lack of spells to cast our eyes, mind, and heart to the magic found in a place rich with history and wonders of it's own.
Now we see that the East must have provided the antidote for the sting that had captured our hearts so long ago. For even though we return to the place our mothers gave us birth, the desire to return is gone and it will be ten years before that coal is bellowed and the heart begins to stir to say that we have forgotten something and need to remember, to find, that wisp of memory that is so dim. Is this memory fading or maybe it is becoming stronger, coming back to be rediscovered and to bless that secret promise to return?
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