Walking out of work today, it was cold and rainy and grey. I thought, I might as well be in London. The Scottish Highlands, maybe.
I love Chicago. But sometimes I think of the other places I've been, even other places I've lived, and I miss them so. I miss stars and sunsets and skies that don't get caught on the spires of tall buildings. The fall colors are nice up here and last week, driving home on Lake Shore Drive, I could see Lincoln Park and it was all golden and red and brown, anchored to the earth by green. The sun was setting. The tall vintage apartment buildings were shining. Runners dotted the beach. In that moment I knew I'd never move. I'd never leave this place.
But then today I was not on Lake Shore Drive, I was wading through dirty puddles, waiting for a bus that is always late, and all I could think about was the summer David and I fell in love, traveling around Scotland, Ireland, England, and Wales. I thought about driving to southern Indiana with Natalie. I thought about visitng the old tenement building where my father grew up in Bayonne, New Jersey. It smelled so damp on days like today. And then I thought about my father being from Ireland himself and how some things just come to a complete circle.
Then my bus came and I journeyed back to my corner of this city, on this rainy grey day, and contemplated life and love and rain.
Wherever I am, I will be okay. It rains most places on earth.