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7 Seconds of Home

October 30, 2010

I am not from the east coast.  I am from Denver, where I can see for miles in any direction, where the Rockies always remind me of God’s unchanging presence, and the air (though thin) not only fills the lungs but also the soul.  It is home there, and every day I spend away from home makes me romanticize about it all the more.

I have learned to enjoy the East.  Really, I have.  The ocean crashes up against black rocks and bursts into sprays while you stand there, in awe.  Electric red, orange, and yellow leaves fall down while I run across stone-lined sidewalks, making me sometimes feel like I am running through fire.  But the one thing I still cannot get myself used to are all the trees.  Lovely though they are, they block my view of the sky, of the open space, of the sun setting down.  They are the one thing that stand out as being dramatically different than the landscape of the West.  Sometimes I feel a little claustrophobic, as if all the trees are just going to crowd in around me.  Us Colorado girls need a little more of the Dixie Chicks’ “wide open spaces.”

I pass a farmhouse on my drive to work every morning.  It is a part of my drive I have come to look to with anticipation.  I can’t wait for the moment when I see the open fields, the fluid roll of the hills, and the animals that graze within the boundaries of an old wooden fence.  For a while, I thought this farm was quintessential New England, but on Friday I had a different opinion.

It takes about 7 seconds to drive passed the farm during my commute.  I began my drive on Friday a little earlier than I usually do, and as I approached the open farmland that morning, the sun was coming up.  The grass and corn stalks were lit up as if a flashlight was shining from behind them.  The rays of the sun stretched up and reached over the top of the silo, as if it were spreading its fingertips while waking up.  A slight fog settled in the dips of the hills and I could see deer walking around.  It wasn’t a particularly warm Fall morning, but I put all of my windows down anyway.  For those small seconds, I had a glimpse of home.  A glimpse of open air, open space, open soul.  I could see everything in those 7 seconds the way I can see everything when I am in Colorado, and it was enough that morning to rejuvenate me.  I let the moisture of the coastal air spread through my car and mix with my thoughts of mountains and buffalo and western plains.  I was surprised at how well the two intermingled in my mind.

I cannot say that everyday brings this harmony of where I live and where I call home, together.  But there are these rare moments, these rare gifted moments, where I feel okay to stay.  I can stay and dig my roots into this new space, and let my restless Colorado wings settle for a little while.  For 7 seconds my feet and my spirit are planted in the same space.  And 7 seconds are all I need to remind me that wherever love abides, there is home.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Jaena Barker permalink
    October 30, 2010 8:03 pm

    Simply beautiful.

  2. Cassie permalink
    October 31, 2010 8:46 pm

    I hear you. Exactly how I feel, too. Let the CO within live on. 🙂

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