Pining for the fjords
That being said, I find myself gazing out the window that's over our sink...seemingly lost in thought...but really just missing the river. Now all I have to capture my attention is the elderly (look who's talkin, here?) neighbor's backyard with the occasional fat, fluffy squirrel or JoAnn their old, stiff-legged beagle who barks just to clear her throat.
I do miss the river. I miss her moods. What's she like today? Is she Dark, angry and choppy? Or as calm and smooth as a pane of glass?
I miss the animals. The squirrels there seemed more entertaining. I miss the huge, slow-flying egrets...and the clunky, prehistoric-looking pelicans. I even miss the pesky, yapping gulls...watching them swoop and dip so gracefully. I know I'll miss eagle-watching this winter. Their high-pitched "chattering" in the early morning; watching as they dive and catch big catfish for breakfast, pulling them up on the ice and tearing into them with their powerful beaks. Gore on ice. Nice.
I even found myself missing our little blue house with it's enormous picture window overlooking the world and the noisy, rattle-ty-squealy water pump. So I drove by there today on my way home from work. Slowly.
And I discovered something. I still miss the river. But it's no longer "our" little blue house. Even though there's someone else there now, it looks...sorta sad. And neglected.
And as I drove down our "new" street, past the front of our home...ours...I thought to myself, "I'm home".
And the river, she will always be there for me. I can go see her every, single day if I want to. And next summer, we'll spend time on the boat...on her. And when I die...30 or 40 years from now (I say with crossed fingers)...I will join her and become part of her.
And I will pine for the fjords no longer.
Hey...my ancestors were Vikings. Cut me a break.