I look to the East and I see home, this too is home. Mountains and a miniature city scape built of concrete, wood and metal in the forest. I find the city and as I observe it my mind begins to drift. To face the structure properly you must face east.

In the city, I look to the west and I see home, almost home, this place was home first, is where my loved ones are, a sense of warmth, safety, community. Dry pavement baking in the sun and a dusty scent when it rains, not like the sweet sap smell of the rain in the mountains lately.

Sitting at a table in Olympic plaza my gaze rests near my feet. Living between two places is strange, cyclical. I sit here, in the city, and I imagine the city viewed in the woods. I am reminded of everything I miss when I am there, yet here I miss being there. Solitude and isolation. I like the view from above this small city. I stood atop a building near here, imagined the next building. I imagine that if you can get just out of sight, you might slip into a different place, an assured solitude. Disappear, dissolve or enter another reality we usually, somehow, overlook.

When alone, I can lose myself, connect to the universe and everything will slowly spin out and away from me, expanding to the infinite. I wonder why I never see anyone else, on the rooftop, lost in their own mind. By the small city scape in the woods.

Reflecting on Home