Fort Union Blvd.

The days pass in a vacuum. Every morning a new sunrise over the mountains, each one different and I sit quiet in wonder and watch the morning mist rise, the hillsides turn auburn with approaching frost, the mountain peaks grow pink with sunlight. One quiet moment of solitude before the house wakes and the day begins. 

And so it is that I stroll the aisles of the SuperStore, inhaling the scent of America, and feeling utterly lost. Is this where I live, now? Is this what I am doing with my life and how is everyone else doing it so effortlessly? The desire to consume rises in me, to shop my way to happiness and fulfillment. I long for crafts and hot apple cider and fall foliage trips. My old college roommate expresses her grief and broken families, and I realize we are suddenly in a land where I can put words to those feelings myself. That I have lived the last two years in a language where I do not know how to say anything meaningful, so I simply haven't. 

America courses through my veins. Hesitantly, still, in the vacuum that is desert sunshine and Rocky Mountain conservatism, but it whispers to me that I can rest now, for a bit. It makes believe I have come home.