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I am

I am, by my nature a traveler. Everyplace I go, I love. I want to be there, to drink it in, to get to know its people and its places. It isn't that my current home isn't good enough. I do not really compare. It is more that I want the off balance feeling. That, "I don't know where I am or who you are or how to act". And in that place it is okay that I do not know because I am not home. A series of new places was my past; constant change from birth to independence. Is that why I feel comfortable there, in the flux?

It isn't that I can't stay still. I have been here seventeen years now. I have seven and a half years with my current employer. Sure I have moved form this neighborhood to that one, from this job assignment to that one, from this multi-year relationship to that one (with the requisite pause to morn in between). Still, my nature leaks through even while I try to overcome it by force of will.

When I first saw the Pacific Northwest I had the concept of a place for me burned into my soul. I told my self when I stop moving it would be here. Then I imagined a place for stuff, for books, a nest to return to, cocooned safety. That is what the home I make represents.

Every time I visit a place, anyplace my heart says stay awhile. So far every time I return to this home. I return because I want roots. The roots that no human ever will have, root I cannot steal from the elm or the Douglass fir, roots I cannot even steal from the clover or the blackberry. I do not have, can not have the kind of human roots that come from generations in a place. I must be satisfied with these shallow, new and fragile, roots. The ones I choose to sink into this place or any other. I must do that or I must let the wind blow me where it will. Where ever the next food for my soul can be found.