From my private journal

4-10-07
And she realized, suddenly, nostalgically, with the words "sun- soaked fields" that what she missed so deeply- so deeply, even still, two years later, she missed the summers. She missed the fields, the smell of hay and growing things, missed seeing the gossamer threads weaving the grass like a layer of lace, the warmth of the dog and small guinea pig, the yard that had been my kingdom. The feel of earth, of dirt, warmed by the sun and loosened by the worms, the cool touch of the toads and warm berries from the garden.

This is what she longed for, even now, even two years later.

You have stolen my heart.

The kiss of sun and touch of the wind. I mourned here. I laughed here. I cried here, I smiled here, I languished here, here I became me. This deep deep summer is deep deep in my eyes. The lake, deep and known to me, the bluff, the dirt and rotting trees, rough twigs and slushy mud. The waves coming and coming and coming, and at night, receding, receding, until she stood on the sand in the middle.

This is my deep longing.

You have stolen my heart.



I'm in the process of moving to a different room in my apartment and I found a scrap of paper with this written on it. I hardly remember missing the Midwest so much when I was in Boston, but apparently adjusting to living in a city brought out sentiments like this one. I want to write it here so it be more accessible for me to read, and remember who I was in 2007, who I was before the city became such a large part of my life.