July 24, 2008

Listening to the breeze through Canadian pines

It's a sound I catch sometimes, even in Australia, and it always reminds me of home. The gentle whoosh of wind through pine trees, ruffling and rustling the thousands of needles. Some love the sound of the sea on the beach, but I grew up loving the northern woods.

I've been off-line for a few days, and that's because I've been hanging out in my woods. We arrived in Canada a week ago, and since then I have swum in cool northern lakes, slapped a lot of mosquitos, gone canoeing, jumped off the dock, messed about in boats, talked with my sister and cuddled her dog, eaten bbq'd dinners, checked for bears before venturing out of the cabin in the morning, and fallen asleep under whooshing pine trees.

There's peace in the unspoken elements that represent home when you have lived away from 'home' for so long. I left in 1995 and haven't been back much since; ten years in the UK, now 3 and a half in Australia.

When you leave for so long, you find you love things about each of them, but sometimes you've got to just sit and listen to the wind in the pine trees.

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