Homesick Moments.

Last night I dreamt of fir trees. They were tall and dripping with moss. I smelled the pacific ocean in the air and felt the dampness seep into my skin. I could taste the salty, thick fog and asked it to rain on me. Fat drops of Oregon rain fell down and I felt like dancing. My grin was drenched in wetness and I drank in every drop. Even though I was in the middle of it I yearned for it somehow. Yearned for Sitka spruce and fiddleneck firns. For sorel flowers and ice cold ocean. I felt a strange feeling insdide, and then....
I woke up.
Outside my window was a beautiful chestnut tree, its leaves were the most miraculous red. The dry ground was not lush but still lovely. Deciduous trees of all colors waved at me in the wind and the North Carolina morning was immaculately clear.
I went out into the day and breathed in Asheville. The mountains, the old miraculous mountains, were visible on all sides. People are coming from all over to see that sight. To see what I see every day.
But no matter how beautiful I find this place, the northwest is in my blood. With all of its damp, cloudy, salty mornings.
And I miss it.