Where I'm From

A Place that is clean and smells dry and fresh
I hear the breeze race through the trees and the water crashing against the hard and moss covered rocks
I see tall seemingly untouchable pines that last forever and the houses with the view of the great mountains and the pacific waters.
I taste home grown. I taste what his hands have touched. I taste newness and unfamiliarity.
Here is where I touch and I know not what I feel. It's surroundings seem familiar enough yet feels the way it should. I touch distance.


This is a poem I wrote while I was on retreat two weeks ago. It somewhat reflects my two homes both in Virginia and British Columbia.