Belonging and longing are strange bedfellows. They seem to coexist within me throughout my life..
Maybe it’s because of my nomadic childhood with restless parents, but nevertheless they are there like guests in the house of my being, and somehow these mountains are some kind of metaphor for the containment within something larger, yet protective, and the adventures within. The discovering each little nuance from village to village; each so similar and yet so different, like each little bend in the road. The longing for adventure and time alone. The belonging and not belonging to a place, so familiar yet so alien.
Difficult to write on a phone keyboard, but thoughts that need expanding perhaps later.