“As you get older you yearn for the landscape of your childhood.”
For me the Appalachians. The quiet presence of the creatures, and sound of streams.
Something about the old mountains just being. When I went to Scotland I felt the same. Parts of Ireland also trigger it in my heart.
They know how to hold memory and being. And mainly just to be.
Like a grandfather staring at a fire late at night. Or the silence of my own grandmother’s hands as she quilted.
We remember things inside before we know we remember them. For, they are interned in us—the landscape of our childhood never leaves us.
We all came from dust, sure, but we all came from specific dust that somehow, mysteriously our bones recall.
One of the mysteries of identity, and why it must not ever end. Our names are grounded somewhere, and as kids we knew.