I've been feeing weirdly homesick this summer. As autumn slowly unfolds I find myself thinking not about the glorious mists and apple picking of Oregon (though I really should be), but instead thinking about scrub oak and golden aspen leaves. Of snicker-doodles made by my Mom after school, of ice on brown cottonwood leaves. Of creeping around in the hills when I was younger, fancying myself a real wild woman.
It's a strange place to be, as Colorado is on everyone's mind right now, because of the flooding and devastation going on.
I've spoken before about natural disasters that strike your homeland. This was a little less of a slowly-building dread kind of scenario that the fire was. This has been swift and violent. I merely touched base with my vital people to make sure they were safe, and then backed off completely and let the stories surge in.
