This is always calling, yet we rarely listen
Within the first passing moments, its clear what we've been missin'
With the smell of the trees and campfire in the air
Our days will pass much slower, and free from our usual care
No matter how hard one tries, this feeling doesn't come at home
So temporarily we cut our ties, so freely we can roam
The sun is lowering in the sky as we sail high above it. Yellows, Browns, Oranges, and purples fill the small window to my left. Its all a giant welcome sign to the great Northwest!
As I unroll my tent, that smell grabs me. Its a combination of material, soil, campfire, and time. Its one of the most welcoming and familiar things I feel each and every time. Fifteen years deep this temporary home has delivered good times. My neighbors are always changing, but that familiar feeling remains the same. This is where I want to be. It started when I was 25, and now at 40, it feels as though time has almost stood still.
Travel is a departure from how we fill our days. What we spend our days looking at in HD, is finally all around us. Its the widest screen there is, but its not flat, and it has smell, feel and texture. This is the channel I want to be watching . . . The stoke is high and so is the moon out here. There is light even away from the campfire because of it.
We can't see as much in the dark, but there is a certain magic that comes with that. Maybe its some kind of metaphor . . . We see less, but feel more. Our insides are awake.
