“You will love it here, except for the days you don’t” said someone I met a few months ago. The person was referring to local landscape, and weather. It was idyllic there, water splashing upon a rocky shore, coloured sunsets so inked they are written about in books, eagles nesting close by, and coyotes howling their evening chorus. There were even laughing calls of pileated woodpeckers, scurrying of recently mated red foxes, thrusting wings of prowling snowy owls, and quiet crunching as wandering deer made their rounds. All of this is witnessed while locals exchange last summer’s stories of lumbering black bears.
Somehow as I wander through a minefield, tucked high up in the rafters of my thoughts, I hear that unassuming comment echoing over and over “you’ll love it here, except for the days you don’t”. It appears to be a simple truth that goes beyond landscape, even as I document frozen splashes urging up for a dearly desired spring.
JT Murphy signing off for shift knowing I will always love it here, except for the days I don’t.