Winter in the mountains

In my contemplative thoughts these past few days, I sat in my chair wondering how I ended up here. I drank my tea, and stared in a dream-like gaze upon my room: "Here," I said, "in this state of bewilderment, of limbo, and of content." So many contradicting feelings and assumptions that pull on my insides like the moon tide.

I'm overwhelmed. I've always imagined that the root of all my troubles is the idea that I was somehow placed in the wrong state, the wrong country. When I was being filed and sunk down through the tube for delivery, the postal people handling my delivery sent me to the wrong destination. Maybe it was France, maybe it was Scotland. Or maybe it was somewhere in New England. Anywhere but here.

Living in Virginia has given me so much discomfort, so much irritability, that I would never want to come back once I get out of this place. I should never have been surrounded by the sun or its heat. I was meant to bare the frigid winds of the north, and be inspired by it.

But sometimes I think twice. These mountains are quite breathtaking. The frost and snow remind me of everything I long to be in.