A Desire for Home

Sitting in a coffee shop's fake leather chair beside it's falsely glowing fireplace I feel a long way from the river, a long way from taking a rocky seat beside a real, warmth producing, stress relieving, comfort providing campfire while the Willamette gurgles by, occasionally releasing a rainbow trout for a brief peak of the outside world as it snatches a fly from the air. 

Riding a bike through downtown streets waiting and watching for the traffic barreling by and listening to the roar of engines and bleating of horns I feel a long way off from the steady rhythm of paddles slicing through clear, running water pulling canoes steadily forth as the Heron's cries pierce the air like pterodactyls of times gone by and a slight wind rustles the drying leaves of autumn's trees. 

Waking up in a soft bed with shielded light creeping through the cracks of drawn shades I feel a long way off from the early morning light beckoning me awake as it consumes the entirety of my tent and my being and insists that I rise and take part in it's splendor.

Being a bystander, a nonparticipant, in the steady flow of sea bound waters I feel separated from my place in this world, not a chosen place, at least not a place which I chose for myself.  Instead a place that was chosen for me by the waters, and having been chosen there is longing in separation.  But following this longing comes the intense joy, satisfaction, and relief found in reunion.

And so I am thankful for this longing, thankful for this intense desire to be back on water, for without this longing I would not know the same pleasure experienced in union.