East on 50 with a head full of memories. Memories I'd rather forget but since I can't I accept that they are making me who I am. Little mountain towns set against soaring peaks, trees reaching toward heaven and a heart aching with memories from a past I didn't want to end. The beauty of both is overwhelming. The air is thin and my lungs are empty. Screaming through the night with everything but the sound. Here I am, not where I want to be but probably, no, exactly where I need to be. Shaped by the pain and the trial. Carved into something new. Ready to head West on 50 and be home. Where my heart is, where my family is. If home is where the heart is my community has the pieces of it.
Written-8/18/12
At-Sierra Pines Camp/BYA Retreat
