Place Where You Live:

Buffalo Grove, Minnesota

As I gaze out my window, waves of grain far out ahead of me, reminding me of California ocean waves as they mount and crest, leading to the inevitable crashing at their peak, giving way to a newfound rolling of water. I can even smell the ocean’s salty air.

Here, in the valley of Buffalo Grove, the colors of green from the crops and trees beyond them, at the crux of the property lines, join with the blues of sky and marshmallow tufts of clouds to welcome me home, albeit to an old home, one of early ages in life.

Heed, I told myself. Heed the sky and the earth. Feel gratitude for all that lay before me; behind me. The geography speaks to me, granting peaceful gratitude for having ventured forth into an ocean of color; blues and greens at my door.

Alas, let us move on in peace to new chapters of blues, of greens. Keep our mood verdant; old blues not welcome at this door. Allow spacious space. Treasure summer sounds. Make peace with California, with ocean waves no longer at my doorstep. Welcome instead waving grains, waving greens of faraway trees, waving, unsolicited to me.

Water here, along Bloody Run, twists and turns at only a high Midwest tide, sneaking and snaking below the corn flats and the modest house above. Flowing, ever flowing, into a larger body down, down further downstream. There flow the fishes, my nature friend, fishes of yore. The fishes aplenty, to welcome no more.

Peace I have found my nature friend, peace with the past, also peace with the present. Perhaps, my friend, indeed, my friend, peace graces us into an ever more prosperous moment, beyond the present time as we journey forth amongst newfound blues and greens. Turquoise, anyone?