![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Just got in from a weekend in Bend for the celebration of the birthdays of The Ruling Reddcub and his mother. Fun was had by all in the shape of red pepper mills, saw mills, arrow heads, and even a sleepy otter (of the river variety, not the 501-clad kind).
The desert is a home-like place and leaving it this time was a gauntlet running of thunder and lightning. It was as if we were supposed to shield our eyes and jump through the veil while all the heavens and thunderbirds tried to change our minds.
But the valley is where our lives are made, and homes can be split in two: the home of everyday and the home to which we go to quiet and breathe.
At least the mountain felt like it understood, and performed its duty of curtaining with grace and pine-treed aplomb. I am a very lucky man in that every time I cross the mountain, I get to feel like I have driven through a portal to home, no matter which direction I am traveling.
The desert is a home-like place and leaving it this time was a gauntlet running of thunder and lightning. It was as if we were supposed to shield our eyes and jump through the veil while all the heavens and thunderbirds tried to change our minds.
But the valley is where our lives are made, and homes can be split in two: the home of everyday and the home to which we go to quiet and breathe.
At least the mountain felt like it understood, and performed its duty of curtaining with grace and pine-treed aplomb. I am a very lucky man in that every time I cross the mountain, I get to feel like I have driven through a portal to home, no matter which direction I am traveling.