We should all return to that place where we knew ourselves and liked who we were. Where the land lays perfectly under our feet. The wind was a friend. The trees swayed their branches in welcome. The wind whispered where ya been? I believe some places fit us perfectly. Sadly, we don’t realize it until a dark depression sets in. The loss we feel is inexplicable. Something has changed. We are the same person but unfamiliar. Then, by chance, your memories recall something dimly. Was it a time? You hope not. A moment that past is gone forever. No, it was a place. You can see it. Returning is redemption. Your boots carry you back through timber. Elevation gains you a mountain ridge with a view that clears your mind. You journey to a place that you already are. I blogged about this sensation before. I was reminded of it last night when watching the Turnpike Troubadors perform “The Bird Hunters.” I was surprised that a song could trigger the same feeling. I found it even more amazing that I saw the same experience shared by hundreds of people signing lyrics alone but in unison.
“How good does it feel, we belong in these hills.”
Pretty damn good I thought in my head. It feels pretty damn good to be back in these hills of the mind.
