Nostalgia

Nostalgia is the scent of winter firewood lightly perfuming the dry high desert air. It is the crisp blue skies of morning, the swirling pink sunsets of twilight, and the inky black nights with a sparkling display of stars. It's the majestic view of mountains covered in snow, and the less charming sight of roadside snow colored deep red by the local cinders which provide traction against the ice. It is tall magnificent trees, mountain lakes, buttes, and the sparse high desert landscape of pine, juniper, and sage.
I am suffering from homesickness more and more lately. Bouts of crippling nostalgia overwhelm me at times, and I can hardly explain where they come from or why. I traveled home to Oregon five times last year--a record since we moved south--and that certainly hasn't helped matters. Although California is now my home, I don't always feel at home. I like living here. There are many great things about it, not least the mild climate and the wealth of activities and culture in the bay area. But sometimes I just miss the familiar:
I love the snow in winter, the dry heat, the unpredictable weather. Gorgeous mountain views greet you every morning. People are friendly and life is an adventure, not a race. Most importantly for me, I have a network of family and friends. I have a group of best friends--girls who have been there for me, whether near or far, for over a decade. You can't build that kind of life in six years, no matter how hard you try. I do love my little life here, but that's how it feels sometimes: little.